


Legends

by DomesticGoddess



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: AU, BAMF!Bilbo, BAMF!Thorin, Bilbo adopts the fellowship hobbits, Bilbo does not approve, Bilbo has a head injury, Bilbo is So Done, Confused Fellowship, M/M, Protective!Bilbo, There's a lot more to Bilbo's stories, Thorin adopts the fellowship hobbits, Time Travel, Two One Rings, Uncle-Nephew Relationship, protective!Thorin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:46:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 35,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22397302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DomesticGoddess/pseuds/DomesticGoddess
Summary: The fellowship has set out on its noble quest to destroy the ring and put an end to the threat that is Sauron! Just set out really, barely left the gates of Imladris, but things are going smoothly enough so far. That is until the two most unlikely party crashers fall upon their little fellowship. Uncle Bilbo and the Legendary Thorin Oakenshield?! Frodo just wants to know what's going on but the two of them won't stop hollering at each other long enough for anyone to get a word in edgewise. Suddenly, their little group is joined by Frodo's two biggest heroes and he discovers there was a lot more to Uncle Bilbo's stories than he realized.
Relationships: Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield
Comments: 469
Kudos: 1095





	1. Party Crashers

Bilbo raced up Raven Hill. Thorin was running into a trap and he had to stop him or all his efforts to keep the blasted dwarf alive would be for nothing! He couldn’t let taking the Arkenstone mean nothing after what it cost him! He rubbed his eyes roughly with his sleeve, wiping the grime, blood and tears from his eyes. He could live with Thorin hating him as long as it meant he was _alive_! 

He huffed, pushing his limits and lungs as he climbed the crumbling stairs. His head throbbed from where that rocked nicked him and the swirling darkness of the ring’s world didn’t help with the dizziness. Thank goodness the rock had been off by even just an inch or he would have been down for the rest of the fight, if he even survived the blow. As it was, he was bleeding and disoriented. 

He sent a silent praise to Yavanna as he finally reached a landing and heard Thorin’s voice through the whispers of the shadows. Thank Eru everyone was still here! He huffed and rushed over before the princes could take off, slipping off his ring as he did. 

“Wait!” He called them back. “Stay! Don’t go!” He heaved giant breaths in between. “Trap!” He finished, doubling over to catch his breath. 

“Bilbo?” Thorin breathed but his nephews spoke over him. 

“Bilbo!” “You came back!” “Wait? What trap?”

Bilbo sucked in a few more gulps of air. “Azog . . split forces . . more coming . . we have to go.” He tried to explain, still out of breath.

“We”re so close!” Dwalin growled, hesitant to give up. 

“Please, Thorin.” Bilbo gave him a pleading look. After stealing the Arkenstone, he didn’t really believe Thorin would trust him. But the king’s mind looked clearer now. If there was anything left of their friendship, he was going to appeal to it. 

Thorin studied him, Bilbo could see him weighing the odds. “Fall back.” He finally decided. “We fall back! Live to fight another day!” He ordered more firmly. 

Bilbo heaved a sigh of relief and gave the king a grateful nod.

Thorin returned it with a tight one of his own. “Let’s move.” He ushered the others on, stopping when Bilbo made no move to follow. 

“Go ahead. I’ll catch up . . after I catch my breath.” Bilbo tried to wave him on. 

The others had stopped and were waiting. “I’ll not leave you behind.” Thorin denied. “Scout ahead! Make sure our way of retreat is clear!” He ordered to the others. 

“Really, Thorin. You should go. I’ll be fine.” Bilbo urged. He could always just slip on his ring and follow down at his own pace. 

“I’m not leaving you.” Thorin stalked a circle around him, keeping a watch for trouble. 

“I’m telling you, I’m fine! Why do you never listen to me?!” Bilbo snapped back frustrated. It didn’t matter if he died here, but Thorin had a throne to reclaim! 

“Me?” Bilbo could hear the winding up in Thorin’s voice. “You’re the one who can’t seem to understand that we work together! Going behind our backs, my back, and doing whatever you think is best!”

“I tried to talk sense into your thick skull! A hundred times! I’d have had better luck arguing with those stone statues!” Bilbo yelled back. What were they doing?! This wasn’t the time or place, but the words just seemed to keep tumbling out on their own!

“I had everything under control!”

“You were mad! There was nothing but gold in your head!! You didn't deserve this bloody stone!” He yanked the Arkenstone out of his jacket to emphasize his point. 

Thorin's eyes went wide in disbelief. “You have it?” He breathed. “I thought you gave it to the elf.”

“I stole it back! It wasn’t his to keep! And it’s not yours either if you can’t act like a real king instead of a gold mad one!”

“It is my birthright! You have no right keeping it from me!” Thorin stalked forward. 

“You have no right having it if you’re gonna to be a gold-crazed, thick-headed moron!”

“Give it to me!” Thorin lunged at him.

“No!” Bilbo twisted around to keep it away but Thorin grabbed him before he could run.

“Bilbo!” Thorin growled. “I don’t want to hurt you!” He tried to wrestle the smaller hobbit under control but Bilbo’s squirming and thinned figure prevented him from asserting the force needed to do so. 

“No!” Bilbo yelled again as they wrestled. Despite his efforts, Thorin was getting closer to the stone. He tried to yank himself out of Thorin’s grip and the stone slipped from his hand. They both paused, Thorin practically wrapped around the resisting hobbit, staring at the brilliant stone laying on the snow covered ground. 

“Oof!” Thorin stumbled back when Bilbo slammed his shoulder into his chest and then disappeared. He recovered faster than Bilbo expected and must have heard his small whimper from shoulder ramming a fully armored dwarf in the chest. He rubbed his shoulder and jolted with a yelp when Thorin charged for him. 

Thorin tackled him and they both fell to the cold ground. “You and that bloody ring!” Thorin growled and tried to reach for the stone from where he had Bilbo pinned. 

“No!” Bilbo took advantage of the distraction and scooted forward on his belly. Thorin cursed and refocused his attention to keeping the hobbit contained. But Bilbo was almost within reach, he ignored Thorin's grappling and reached for the stone.

His fingertips hit it and it nudged just a little closer. Thorin grabbed him around his middle and started to pull him away. “No!” He was so close! He flailed, his elbow accidentally knocking Thorin in the face. The dwarf’s grip loosened and Bilbo jumped forward for the stone. Thorin’s grip on him tightened at the last moment but it was too late. 

His hand came down on the stone, the ring on his finger colliding with the smooth, brilliant surface of the rock. Bilbo felt a shock wave through his hand as a loud boom emanated from the impact followed by a blinding light. 

Bilbo screamed as the stone under his hand heated painfully against his skin. There was nothing but blinding whiteness, his hand burned and it felt like he was being sucked into the air! A solid presence wrapped around him protectively and then it felt like they were hurdling through empty space.

_~Frodo~_

He stayed close behind Gandalf. Sure, he may have led the exodus from Imladris, but he didn’t have a clue where he was going, so he quickly surrendered the place at the front to the wizard. 

Sam walked faithfully beside him but he could hear Merry and Pippin farther back chatting up a storm. Foolish youngsters. They didn’t realize what they were getting into yet. As their elder, he should have sent them home. Pippin wasn’t even of age yet! He should have but he didn’t. 

He’d be lying through his teeth if he denied having them along didn’t bring him some comfort. He’d grown up with Uncle Bilbo’s stories of adventures. They always sounded so grand and exciting when he told him. But after actually getting a taste of it, he wasn’t so sure he much cared for adventures. 

It made him wonder sometimes how accurate Bilbo’s stories really were. The stories he told, the trolls, the orcs, the dragon, he always told them so cheerfully. Like it was just a good story. It couldn’t really have been as bad as he told it, right? Not if his own limited experiences with adventures were anything to go by. 

He couldn’t even imagine it! Running out his door one day, all alone, to join a bunch a dwarves he didn’t even know, to face a bloody dragon?! Frodo was surrounded with friends and family and he was still terrified! He didn’t know how he was going to get to mount Doom, let alone Mordor! 

Bilbo made it all sound so easy. Of course, he was a story teller, a great one! So, it wouldn’t be surprising if he embellished it just a little bit. You know, to make it more interesting. It made him wonder sometimes how much of it really happened. Obviously some of it happened, he had to have gotten Sting, the ring and the coat of chain mail from some where, but it couldn’t have been as dangerous as he always made it sound, right?

Not like his adventure. He had to go to Mordor. The ring and the responsibility of destroying it weighed heavily on him. He didn’t blame Bilbo, of course. He might have even offered to take it partly for Bilbo. His aging uncle already felt terrible for harboring such a vile thing, even worse for handing it down to Frodo. 

Maybe he felt like he was . . freeing them, both of them. Poor Bilbo had been under its clutches longer, but they had both suffered from it. And his silly uncle had even tried to volunteer to take it himself. Frodo was sure that he’d have tried. Bilbo was always spunky, even in his old age. 

But Frodo knew he couldn’t have handled it, even if he was younger. This was no hike across the country for a mountain of gold. This would have been too much for him. It was too much for Frodo, but at least he had his friends and family around him. All he could do was his best, do his uncle proud. 

Still it didn’t keep him from wondering what Bilbo would do if he were there. Would he push through like he always did in his stories? Or would he be just as overwhelmed and terrified as Frodo? Despite his doubt, he liked to think the former. Bilbo had always been his hero along with the majestic king Thorin Oakenshield. Maybe he should be wondering what the kind would do in his place? The king always led the way in Bilbo’s stories. His stories always focused on him. Maybe he was the reason Bilbo made it through his adventures. A strong and brave leader makes all the difference. Frodo was neither. 

He sighed, lost in his own thoughts as they walked. In the end, he had no answers and was back where he started: overwhelmed and clueless. 

“Are you all right, Mister Frodo?” Sam’s voice broke him from his thoughts. 

Frodo smiled softly. How many times had he told him to just call him by his name. “I’m fine, Sam.”

“It’s no surprise, really, though. He may be a Baggins, but he was raised by Mad Baggins, story teller extraordinaire and hands down the most adventurous hobbit in Shire history.” He heard Merry blabbering towards the back. 

“That’s right! Ran off all alone he did! Just up and left! They still talk about it in the pubs sometimes.” Pippin added. 

“You speak of Bilbo Baggins. The one at the meeting?” Aragorn clarified. “I have heard rumors of his part in the retaking of Erebor.”

“Not rumors!” Gimli asserted passionately. “Why, if it weren’t for that wee hobbit, King Thorin’s company would have been lost and the quest failed many times over!”

“He was an exceptional hobbit.” Legolas chimed in. “Very . . . stealthy even for a hobbit, even if he was using the ring. It was good seeing him again.”

“You met him? During the quest?” Frodo interrupted, fascinated. 

“Briefly, yes.”

What was he like? Back then, I mean?”

“He was honorable and valued his friends and peace above all the gold and gems in Erebor.”

“Well, of course he did. He’s a hobbit.” Sam interjected, looking sheepish afterward. “Pretty stones and fancy metals can’t buy the best things in life; friendship, loyalty, . . love.” He shrugged. “What good is money if you don’t have those things?” He ended quietly. 

“Well spoken, Master Hobbit.” Aragorn praised, making Sam blush slightly. Humility was another thing gold couldn’t buy, Frodo thought fondly. There were other ways to be rich. 

“He sounds like an impressive hobbit. I regret not having heard any tales of him.” Boromir put in. “Not many tales of the heroic deeds of hobbits to be had.” The tone of his voice was slightly condescending. Frodo made note of it. He would have to keep an eye on him. 

“Aye! Then ye have not heard the tales of the great King Thorin II Oakenshield and his company!” Gimli asserted. “My own father was part of the company! I’ve heard the tales enough to tell them as if I were there myself!”

Frodo smiled softly. He could probably recite most of Bilbo’s stories himself. Even as he grew older they retained their sense of wonderment for him and he had fond memories of all the story times he had had with Bilbo. His uncle seemed the most alive when he was reliving his adventure. Yet, until he left to stay with the elves, he never ventured out again. 

Frodo walked along quietly while the others continued to chatter on about King Thorin Oakenshield and his burglar, Bilbo Baggins. He was only partially listening, mostly lost in his own thoughts and memories, when he noticed an uncomfortably warm heat against his chest. 

He peeked into his shirt wondering if he been stung or bitten by something, but there was nothing but his ring hanging loosely against his skin. He glanced around, wondering if he was the only one having this problem as the heat at his chest continued to increase,

“Ah!” He reached in and pulled the ring out by its chain, unable to ignore the growing burn. He could feel the heat radiating off the ring now without even touching it. 

“Are you all right, Mister Frodo?” Sam stopped beside him looking concern. 

“No! Something’s wrong with the ring. Gandalf!”

“What is it, my boy?” Have you seen something?” The wizard turned to him, the others gathering around curiously. 

“No! It’s-it’s hot! It's burning me! Ah!” The heat from the ring spread until it reached his hand even where he held it by the chain. The gold glowed with heat and it even burned him through his clothes and chain mail. “It’s burning me, Gandalf!” He couldn’t touch it to get it off.

“Pull it off!” 

“I can’t! It’s too hot! Get it off! please!”

“Someone do something!” Sam yelled, making a grab for it but yanking his hand back in pain. Frodo screamed. It felt like it was trying to burn through his chest and it was growing brighter. 

Aragorn jumped forward and yanked it off with a cry when it seared his hand, throwing it away from them. The light and heat intensified and Boromir and Gimli tried to shield the hobbits from it. Gandalf stood before them, generating a shield with his staff as the light became blinding. 

A sound like thunder crashed over them, making them duck and flinch, and suddenly the light was gone. There was a beat of silence as they stared at where the light had emanated from, waiting for something to happen. 

“What was-“ just as they were beginning to relax, there was a rattling crash as someone dressed in battle armor seemed to fall from the sky right in front of them. He landed with a clattering thud, something shiny rolling off of him.

Weapons were immediately drawn as they regarded the intruder. “State your name an purpose!” Gimli barked as they surrounded him. 

The dwarf, it was definitely a dwarf, groaned as he came to and threw his arm over his stomach as if to grab something. 

“Keep your hands away from your weapons!” Legolas warned, stepping closer with his arrow aimed at the intruder's face. His sternness turned to shock as he spied the dwarf’s face. “Thorin Oakenshield?” His bow lowered.

“That’s not possible! He’s dead!” Gimli shouted, outraged. “How dare ye impersonate the liberator of Erebor?!” He stuck his ax in the intruder’s face menacingly. 

The dwarf growled and knocked it away, barking something in Khuzdul that made Gimli drop his ax completely. The dwarf sat up with a groan, his arm still hanging awkwardly in front of him. “Are you all right?” He grunted 

“What sorcery is this, Gandalf?” Legolas breathed. “What is going on? How is this possible? Gandalf?!” Aragorn added. 

“Bilbo?” The impostor questioned, sounding like he was talking to himself. 

“Bilbo?!” Frodo pushed through to get a better view. “Gandalf?”

“I do not know.” The wizard looked to be in the same state of disbelief and confusion.

“Bilbo?!” The dwarf shouted in a panic, managing get to his knees with abnormal difficulty. “Talk to me!” His hands seemed to grope around at nothing. “Where is that blasted ring?!”

“Gandalf?!” Legolas sounded distinctly agitated. “Is this possible?!”

Before Gandalf could answer, the dwarf found what he was looking for and, with one yank of his arm, a new form appeared out of nowhere. 

Gimli gasped in disbelief. “Bilbo Baggins.” Gandalf murmured. 

“Bilbo?!” The hobbit hung limply in the dwarf’s arms. ‘Thorin’ lifted his face, blood still lazily trickling from a wound on his head, and listened for any sign of breathing. “Tharkun! Do something!” He bellowed at the wizard. 

Gandalf snapped out of his daze and shuffled forward quickly. If he had any doubts, he chose to ignore them to help the distressed duo. “You should not be here.” He muttered before waving a hand over the hobbit’s face and murmuring in another tongue. 

After the third pass of his hand the hobbit gasped to life, coughing before going limp again with a groan. “Ow.” 

The dwarf sighed in relief and sat down behind the hobbit, his one arm still wrapped around and supporting the hobbit. “You will be the death of me.” He complained with no real discontent as he let himself relax. 

“You’d already be dead if not for me.” The hobbit groaned back, pushing himself up and leaning back against the dwarf. “What happened?” He rubbed his head, wincing when he found his head wound. 

“I do not know. Another mess you’ve gotten us into, no doubt.”

“ _I_ got us into?!” Bilbo snapped upright. “This is _your_ fault! I told you I was fine! I told you to go ahead! But, you! You have to be the boss, don’t you?!” The dwarf retreated his arm and followed as the hobbit struggled to his feet. “Well I don’t bloody answer to you!” The hobbit swayed.

“I’ve noticed! You think you’re bloody autonomous, taking things into your own hands! Making decisions for me, as if _you_ were the bloody king!” Thorin shouted back, his touch gentle despite his tone as he steadied the hobbit by his arm.

Bilbo swatted him away. “I wouldn’t have bloody had to if you were in your right mind and capable of making decisions like the king you claim to be! You lost it, Thorin! Over what?! Some shiny trinkets and a BLOODY ROCK!” He screamed, unsteady on his feet. He paused suddenly and started scanning the ground as if looking for something. 

“The stone had nothing to do it! Mad or not you had no right to take it! You could have had anything else in the mountain!” 

“Hah!” Bilbo exclaimed and dived for something on the ground. Thorin spotted it only a moment too late and lunged for the hobbit instead, snatching him up by his middle from where he had landed. “Ah! Put me down!” Bilbo kicked holding a large shiny stone over his head and out of the dwarf’s reach. 

Bilbo’s elbow smacked Thorin in the face in his thrashing and he fell to the ground when the dwarf released him with a grunt. But Thorin recovered quickly and was on him before he could even get back up. They blasted each other with curses and threats as they continued to wrestle for the stone.

The fellowship watched. Someone occasionally murmured something about breaking them up, but they were all too fascinated and confused by the seemingly sudden spat by the last two people they would ever have expected to come across that no one moved a muscle to interfere.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo and Thorin's dispute reaches a crescendo with some unexpected revelations. The shouting match fizzles out and the duo finally realize they're not on Raven Hill anymore.


	2. Courting Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!! 😁😁

“Uh, shouldn’t we . . stop this . . or something?” Boromir wondered distractedly as they watched the two of them grappling each other. Despite the dwarf’s obvious advantages, he was having a hard time containing the much smaller hobbit. 

“It won’t do you any good.” Legolas responded, watching the scuffle with no little amount of fascination. 

“Gandalf? He could easily hurt the hobbit.” Aragorn sought a second opinion. 

“He could and if he wished to he already would have.” The wizard replied with a sigh, leaning heavily on his staff. “Legolas is right. The stubbornness between the two of them combined is great enough that not even a dragon could come between them now.” He smirked slightly. “Best let them get it out of their systems.”

“Gandalf, is this-are they really?” Frodo clutched at his robe. “Is it really them?”

“I’m afraid so. Such stubborn hardheadedness is near impossible to replicate.”

“How is it possible?!” Gimli was still in a state of disbelief. “'e’s dead! I’ve seen 'is grave myself!” 

“I do not know.” Gandalf replied. “And that is what worries me.”

“They look like they could have stepped right out of the great battle of five armies.” Legolas supplied. 

“What are you saying? That they're from the past? Is that even possible?” Merry wondered.

“That would appear to be the case, though I do not remember this particular spat.” Gandalf murmured, stroking his beard.

“Fine! Keep the bloody stone, you insufferable hobbit!” The two finally broke apart, Bilbo having managed to keep the apparent object of contention. “I would have given it to you if you had but asked it of me!” 

“Like garden weeds you would have!” Bilbo hollered back, struggling back up to his feet. “I begged you to forget about it! Begged you to think of your friends, your nephews! All you cared about was this blasted rock and that dragon cursed gold!” He stumbled about, unsteady on his feet. 

“The gold took me, Yes. I have no excuse for that! But how can you say it was all I thought of?! All I cared about?! Even in the depths of madness, I covered you in mythril! The second greatest treasure in all Erebor!” Thorin shouted back. Gimli gasped and Aragorn and Legolas shared am intrigued, knowing look. The duo were half pacing and half circling each other at this point, as if neither of them could contain their energy enough to stand still. “I would have given you the mountain and everything in it, but you went behind my back and betrayed me!”

“You gave me a bloody coat of mail because you were getting ready to send twelve dwarrow and a hobbit out against TWO BLOODY ARMIES to protect your STUPID BLOODY GOLD!!” Bilbo screamed back. “I was trying to keep you from getting killing by your own BLOODY STUPIDITY!!” 

Thorin paused for a moment looking disturbed. “I had no intention of sending you out into battle!” He resumed. “I would have risked your wrath and locked you in the bloody mountain before I allowed that!” 

“Then why did you insist I wear your bloody armor?!”

“It was a COURTING GIFT!!” Thorin bellowed back. 

“Well, I risked your wrath to save your stubborn arse and look where it got me!” Bilbo yelled back before stopping in his tracks. “Wait. What did you just say?”

There were some gasps and snickers among the hobbit audience. Gandalf simply chuckled knowingly, responding to Aragorn’s disbelieving glance with an amused shrug.

“Old Bilbo Baggins was actually courted by a dwarf king?!” Merry whispered loudly. Frodo could only shake his head in his own confusion. “And people thought he was crazy!”

“I don’t remember this part of the story, Mister Frodo.” Sam whispered more quietly. 

“I don’t think this was part of any of his stories, Sam.” He whispered back. 

Thorin stopped his pacing, looking more subdued, almost sheepish. “It was a courting gift. It was the best I had to give at the time, since someone was keeping my Arkenstone from me.” He accused. 

Bilbo’s mouth dropped open only to snap shut a moment later. He nodded with a visibly strained smile, stepping closer to the dwarf. “You . . were courting me . . and you didn’t tell me?” His voice came out as strained as his smile. 

“I gifted you mythril. I though it would be obvious.” Thorin took a step back, looking far more intimidated by the hobbit half his size than he should. 

“You! We’re courting me! And you didn’t TELL ME?!” Bilbo’s poorly manufactured smile fell away. 

“. . . Possibly.” Thorin offered meekly.

Bilbo stared him down for a few moments, his jaw visibly clenched. He turned as if to walk away only come back swinging, his fist colliding with the dwarf’s nose. Thorin lurched back away from the impact, grabbing his nose with a groan. Bilbo fared worse. 

“Haaaaoooow!” He yelled, stumbling away and trying to shake the pain from his hand. “Gah! Blasted dwarrow made of stone! It’s a bloody nose!” He squatted, cradling his hand.

The fellowship was in various states of disbelief and delight. Merry had a hand over his mouth, trying to cover his giggles. Pippin was shaking Frodo far too excitedly, asking if he’d seen it happen. Sam and Frodo were both simply shocked into speechlessness, and the big folk seemed to be wondering if they should consider the hobbit a bigger threat than the dwarf. Gandalf laughed, wincing in superficial sympathy.

“I think you bruised my nose.” Thorin groaned, gingerly wiping away the trickle of blood coming from it.

“Bruised it?! Your nose bloody broke my finger!”

Thorin huffed at the exaggeration. “You hit harder than I expected.”

“Yeah, well, anger’s quite empowering!” Bilbo hissed as he checked his fingers. 

“Let me see it.” Thorin instructed, cautiously walking closer. 

“I’m fine! Eru, Thorin! Why didn’t you tell me?!” Bilbo stood up, still hunched over in pain. 

“It was mythril! Everyone else knew what it was!”

“I’m not a bloody dwarf, Thorin! Your shiny metals don’t mean anything to me! How was I supposed to know it was a bloody courting gift?!”

Thorin had the decency to look sheepish. “I may have overlooked that minor detail.” He wiped the blood from under his nose. It had nearly stopped bleeding already. 

“Sweet Yavanna, Thorin!”

“As we have already established, my mind was not at it’s clearest!” He defended, weekly. 

“Eru, Thorin! It would have changed _everything_!”

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked, sounding cautiously hopeful. 

Bilbo groaned as he inspected his fingers once more. He reached into his coat with his good hand and marched over to Thorin. “Consider this _my_ courtship gift!” He smacked the arkenstone against the dwarf’s armored chest. “Since you want it so bad!” He hobbled away again sounding no less angry. 

Thorin absently caught the stone before it fell to the ground. “Are you . . are you saying you accept my courtship?” He rumbled, almost hesitant to be hopeful. 

“Yes! Unless you’ve decided to rescind it! I don’t suppose you intended it for a betrayer!”

“No. Yes! I mean . . . No, I have not changed my mind.” Thorin glanced at the glimmering stone in his hands then back to the hobbit. “I thought you were still angry.”

“I’m bloody furious, Thorin!” Bilbo shouted back. “Why do you think I’m so bloody angry?! You threatened to throw me from the ramparts! Over that STUPID, BLOODY ROCK!” He screamed, the anger in his voice peeling away to reveal its source. 

“Is that true, Gandalf?” Frodo whispered in disbelief.

“Unfortunately.” The Wizard nodded soberly. 

“Bilbo, I . . I was angry. I felt betrayed. But no amount of anger, betrayal or even madness could have convinced me to carry out such a threat! At my worst, I could never hurt you!” Thorin tried to defend, his voice taking on more of a pleading tone. 

“YOU BANISHED ME!!” Bilbo screamed back. “I was trying to save you and you cast me away like I was NOTHING!” The hurt was clear in his voice. “I FACED A BLOODY DRAGON FOR YOU!!”

All the fight had drained from Thorin as he accepted the hobbit’s wrath. “I was a fool.” He agreed quietly. 

“Finally something we can agree on!”

“What you did . . You acted far more honorable than I. I don’t-“

“I don’t care about bloody honor, Thorin!” Bilbo cut him off. “I care about you!” His anger fizzled out, leaving only the hurt. 

“Bilbo . . .”

“Damnit, Thorin!” Bilbo scrubbed at his eyes with his sleeve, his tears cutting through the grime. 

“I’m sorry.” Thorin stepped closer, hesitant to reach out. 

“I don’t want your apologies!”

“Then what can I do?”

“Just bloody kiss me already!”

The Arkenstone hit the ground, abandoned for something far more precious. They nearly collided as the came together, each one desperate to find the lips of the other. Thorin cupped his hobbit’s head gently, burying his fingers into dirty curls while Bilbo’s fists tightened in his coat to pull him closer. 

Gandalf chuckled and someone whistled. Gimli blushed and tried not to watch too carefully. The men and Legolas were simply fascinated by the development as Thorin's arm snaked down around Bilbo’s waste to pull him closer. 

Sam was blushing furiously and even Frodo was fighting a creeping blush as the kiss continued to drag on, only growing more heated. There’d certainly never been any hint of _this_ in his uncle’s stories.

Merry and Pippin were giggling and making unnecessary observations. “Woah! Your uncle’s snogging a dwarf king!” Pippin pointed out in sheer delight. “Eru, Frodo. Yer uncle’s a boss! First punching a dwarf king and now snogging him silly!” Merry admired. “How come he left all the good parts out of his stories!?!” Pippin complained. 

Frodo just shook his head numbly. He didn’t know what was what anymore. Everything he thought he knew about his uncle, his uncle’s stories, seemed wrong, or, at the very least, just a fraction of the truth. 

Gimli cleared his throat timidly, having watched all he could of the couple’s continuing mouth-to-mouth explorations. They ignored him and Aragorn took a turn, clearing his throat more confidently. The fellowship exchanged looks when even he was ignored. He tried again louder. 

“Come now! We don’t have all day.” Gandalf tried not to chuckle when they continued to pointedly ignore the throat clearing. Finally, they started to pull apart, though their focus was still too narrow to include anyone else. 

Thorin murmured in Khuzdul between more kisses, making Gimli go bright red. “I will make it up to you, ghiveshel.” He rumbled deeply. 

“You had bloody better! I’m still mad at you!” Bilbo pointed with the fist still clutching to Thorin's coat before pulling him back down for another quick smooch. 

“If you are quite done, we have some important matters to discuss.” Gandalf interrupted once again. 

Thorin seemed happy enough to continue ignoring him but Bilbo pulled away with an irritated sigh. “What are you even doing here, Gandalf?! Don’t you have orcs to behead or hobbits . . to . . to . . meddle with?” He paused, finally noticing their audience. “Where is here . . exactly?” He looked around in alarm. 

Thorin’s arm remained secure around his waist while he too began to scan the area. "It's not Ravenhill."

"I'm afraid not. We're on the West side of the Misty Mountains actually." Gandalf informed them and Bilbo's jaw dropped.

"What do you mean the Misty Mountains?! We were just-we were just on Ravenhill! Moments ago!" Bilbo blustered with growing alarm.

"What trickery is this, Gandalf?" Thorin asked suspiciously, fingering the hilt of his sword.

"I do not know, I'm afraid. But it's not the 'where' that concerns me as much as the 'when.'"

"Gandalf." Bilbo growled through gritted teeth. "I am drained. Physically. Emotionally. Mentally. I have a bloody head injury!!" He yelled, gesturing to the nasty looking scab forming above his temple. "I cannot deal with your riddles!"

"You have been misplaced in time, my friend."

"Gandalf." He snarled.

"The battle that you speak of, it ended over seventy years ago." Gandalf 

“That’s . . impossible and not even funny, Gandalf.” Bilbo’s eyes went wide.

“I’m afraid it’s true. Much time has passed since the battle.” Legolas confirmed. 

Thorin studied the elf suspiciously but Bilbo looked like he might start hyperventilating. “That’s- that’s- that’s not- that’s not possible!! How is that even possible?! What- How- That’s not possible!” He gripped at his hair in distress. 

“Calm, my friend, and perhaps we can figure that out together.” Gandalf advised, but Bilbo was beyond listening. 

“Not-not possible! Not possible! It’s not possible!” He pulled at his hair and swayed unsteadily. 

“Bilbo, you need to calm down.” Thorin steadied him. 

“He needs his wounds treated. This discussion can wait.” Aragorn sent the wizard a scolding look. “Let’s take care of your injuries and then we can get to the bottom of this.” He tried to coax.

“You don’t- you don’t understand!” Bilbo ignored him. “We were- we were just there! On Ravenhill! Fighting! And then Thorin decided to be an idiot-“ “Hey.” “And then we were fighting each other.” Bilbo gestured animatedly as he explained. “Then he made me drop the rock, and he’s bloody heavy, so I had to put on my ring . . “ He stopped suddenly, his entire demeanor changing. “My ring.” He patted himself down furiously, checking every pocket. “Where is it?! Where’s my ring?!”

“You were wearing it when we . . . Landed. You were unconscious. I had to remove it.” Thorin explained. 

Bilbo spun on him. “You took it?” The words came out dull, almost monotone. 

“No, of course not. It’s probably still on the ground here somewhere.” Thorin gestured around them. 

Bilbo dove to the ground shuffling through the rocks and sparse grass. “Where is it?! Where is it?!"

“Gandalf! There’s two rings now!” Frodo whisper yelled in alarm. One ring was hard enough to carry. What would happen if he tried to take both?

“We must find them!” Gandalf emphasized.

Bilbo let out a cry of relief and grabbed something out of the loose rocks. “Why is it on a chain?” He wondered staring at a ring dangling from his hand.

“Because that one is Frodo’s ring. You will need to return it.” Gandalf stepped closer, preparing to intervene. 

“What? Why does he-“ He set the ring into his hand and yelped, throwing it away like it was on fire. He scrambled away from it mumbling. “Don't-Don’t want It! Don’t want it.”

Thorin scooped up his shaking hobbit, holding him tight as Gandalf walked by to find the ring. “It’s all right.” Thorin murmured to calm him. 

“Frodo.” Gandalf waved him over to retrieve the ring. 

Frodo shuffled over quickly and picked it up before gingerly placing it around his neck once again. Gandalf continued to search around the ground until he located a second glint of gold. 

“What did you see, Bilbo?”

“Fire! Darkness . . Pain.” He clung to Thorin’s arms wrapped around him. 

“Do you know why?”

Bilbo shook his head, looking exhausted and worn.

“It is the One Ring. The ring of Sauron.” Bilbo’s eyes went wide and even Thorin looked alarmed. “And I’m afraid you must take it.” Gandalf pushed the ring towards him with his staff. 

“No.” Thorin growled. “I don’t want it. You can have it.” Bilbo dismissed. 

“I cannot. But you, Bilbo, have already proven your resilience. You _must_ carry it. Only you can.”

Bilbo looked at the ring, fear and disgust plain in his eyes. “I can’t.” He whispered. 

“But you already have, my friend.” Gandalf smiled encouragingly. “For sixty years. And you still give it away willingly.”

Bilbo stared at him, breathing hard, his eyes pleading for another way. “All right.” He finally conceded when Gandalf offered him none. 

“No! You don’t have to, Bilbo.” Thorin glared at the wizard. 

“Someone has to.” Bilbo replied tiredly, pulling Thorin’s arms away so he could move. He got down on his knees, too tired to squat, and hovered his hand over the ring. He poked at it quickly, bracing himself, but nothing seemed to happen. He poked it again before picking it up and promptly dropping it. He rubbed a hand over his face and finally picked it up, slipping it into his pocket quickly. “There.” He tried to get up and nearly tumbled back down. 

Thorin grabbed him, pulling him back up and supporting him. “Can we forget the blasted rings for five minutes and get his head wound treated?!” He snapped bitterly, keeping his hobbit on his feet. 

“Yes, of course. We have much to discuss. It will no doubt go more smoothly with his injuries treated. We might as well make camp for the evening so we can sort out this development.” 

“Bring him here. He can sit on this rock while we tend to him.” Aragorn directed and Thorin all but dragged him over to sit. 

“I’ll find us a place to camp.” Gimli volunteered. 

Aragorn cleaned the wound while Legolas checked his eyes and responses. “He has a concussion. We’ll need to keep a close eye on him for the next day or so.” The elf informed as Aragorn finished wrapping Bilbo’s head. 

“He needs to eat something.” Aragorn added. “He’s too thin for a hobbit.” He whispered, but was overheard non-the-less. 

“Starving in a elf dungeon will do that to a hobbit.” Bilbo responded matter-of-factly, resting his head in his good hand. 

“I found us a good camping spot.” Gimli reported. “It’s Just a little farther up.”

“Let us make camp and he can eat and rest while we figure out what to do about this little situation.” Gandalf ushered them along the path. 

Thorin helped his hobbit back to his feet, keeping a steadying arm around his waist as they followed along. 

Frodo dug some cram and jerky out of his bag. He’d never seen his uncle so thin. “Here. You can eat this as we walk.” He offered. 

Bilbo looked at him, his head bandage slightly hanging over one of his tired eyes. “Thank you.” He accepted. “Frodo, was it?”

“Yes, sir. Frodo Baggins.”

“Baggins?” His brows raised. “Never thought there’d be another Baggins foolish enough to leave the Shire.” He took a bite of the cram and chewed slowly. 

“Well, I guess I take after my uncle.” Frodo chuckled softly. 

“I take after my mother.” Bilbo nodded. “But even she wasn’t foolish enough to take off with a bunch of hard-headed dwarrow. . . Your uncle must be quite the hobbit.”

“Yeah. More than I’ve ever given him credit for, I think.”

They reached the site Gimli had found and made camp while Thorin sat with his hobbit, trying to make him as comfortable as possible. Boromir and Aragorn got a fire going and Sam started cooking something up as soon as there was a flame to cook on. Curious and still slightly awed glances were continually being cast in the strange duo’s direction.

They had a lot to talk about and questions blossomed in many of their minds. They had only met them minutes ago and already it seemed like there was so much they wanted know. Frodo couldn’t wait to learn about all the parts Bilbo had left out of his stories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The fellowship sit down with their guests and attempt to unravel the how and why of their current predicament. Thorin and Bilbo get a discouraging glimpse of their futures and the fellowship discuss what to do with them.


	3. Shared Stories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Enjoy some new updates!
> 
> So, I didn't post the sneak peek I was able to finish last month but I did post [ The Fell Winter: An HOD Backstory](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23940124) instead, which is a mini background story I finished for 'The Herd of Durin." It's posted as its own work in the [Centaurs of Middle Earth](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1020915) series, so go check it out if you're a fan of HOD and I hope you enjoy. 😁😁

“Tell me again what happened before you found yourselves here. Leave out no detail.” Gandalf instructed as they sat around the fire eating the marvelous stew that Sam had whipped up. 

Bilbo sighed in annoyance.

“We were on Ravenhill. Azog had set a trap for us and Bilbo arrived just in time to warn us. I ordered a fall back, but Bilbo decided to ignore the order and retreat in his own good time.” Thorin reiterated in Bilbo’s stead, putting his own spin on it. 

“I bloody sprinted up that death trap of a hill! I needed a breather!” Bilbo protested. “I had my ring. I would have been fine.”

Thorin rolled his eyes, showing what he thought of that. “We got into a . . heated exchange.”

“Fighting. We were fighting.”

“He continued to deny me my birthright out of spite.”

“That . . . That’s accurate. I don’t deny that.” Bilbo crossed his arms defiantly. 

Thorin shot him an unimpressed glance. “He dropped the stone and rammed me with his shoulder.”

“Oh yeah. That’s why it hurts.” Bilbo murmured, flexing said shoulder.

“And then he put that . . ring on to gain the upper hand.” Thorin continued with a hint of bitterness. 

“You’re over twice my size! You really expect me to fight fair?! I wouldn’t stand a chance!”

“You hold your own well enough.” Thorin grumbled, rubbing his still sore nose.

“Oh please! Your bloody nose broke two of my fingers!” He held up his splinted and bandaged hand. Between the burns from the ring and stone and punching a dwarf in the face, his hand was completely covered in bandages and barely usable. 

“I apologize.” Thorin gently grabbed his wrist and pulled the bandaged hand to his lips. 

“Oh, stop it.” Bilbo huffed. “I should have known better than to punch a bloody dwarf.” He mumbled.

Gandalf cleared his throat. “And then you found yourself here?” He prompted. 

“Not quite. Something happened. Like an explosion.” Thorin corrected. 

“It was the bloody stone!” Bilbo jumped in. “I grabbed the stone and it lit up and got so hot it burned. . . and I don’t know what happened after that. I must have passed out.”

“The light was blinding and even I felt the heat. It felt like we were being sucked into the air, like by a whirlwind. We flew through the air and then landed here.” Thorin filled in. “You know what happened after that. Was there no sign of our coming on this end?”

“Perhaps.” Gandalf answered mysteriously. “It just so happened we did experience a parallel event, but it didn’t include a stone.”

“What do you mean?” Bilbo asked suspiciously. 

Gandalf looked to Frodo, directing everyone else’s attention to him as well. 

“It was the ring. It got hot. I couldn’t even keep it around my neck. Aragorn had to yank it off and throw it away. There was a bright light and a boom and then you two fell from the sky.”

“The ring?” Thorin sounded skeptical. 

“Could the rings have called to each other? Connected two points in space and time?” Legolas suggested. 

“Even if that was the case, the ring doesn’t have that kind of power.” Aragorn argued. “It would take massive amounts of energy to power such a magical feat.”

“Thorin, where’s the stone?” Bilbo asked quietly. 

Thorin pulled it out of his coat, handing it over as if it were any other rock. Bilbo turned it over in his good hand, studying it closely. 

“How does this benefit Sauron? If the rings are responsible, one would suspect that this would benefit him somehow.” Boromir added skeptically. 

“It is hard to say.” Gandalf replied. “Indeed, the ring is the only common factor on both ends and it was clearly the ring on our end that seemed to summon them here. Perhaps if we knew how-“

“It was the stone.” Bilbo interrupted. 

“We understand your hatred for the stone, Bilbo, but the ring is the most likely culprit.” Aragorn tried to placate. 

“No. You haven’t been listening.” Bilbo gave him a dirty look. “The ring burned my finger, but the stone burned my hand.” He lifted his bandaged hand to show off the extent of his burns. “It wasn’t just the ring. Eru knows I’ve probably worn it more than I should. It wasn’t just the stone either. I’ve . . passed it around enough with no affect.” He lowered his eyes guiltily. “But when I went to grab it, I slammed my hand down on it and I felt the ring hit it . . hard. I actually thought I might have broken it.” He ended in a murmur, handing the rock back to Thorin. 

“But it’s just stone.” Thorin studied it. 

“It is the heart of the Mountain.” Gandalf corrected, eyes widening. “Let me see it.”

Thorin raised a skeptical brow but tossed it across their small camp to the wizard. Gandalf caught it easily enough and began studying it carefully. Everyone watched and waited as he passed his staff over the shiny rock. 

“Bilbo is right. There is indeed traces of benevolent magic residing within.”

“So we could use it to get back?” Bilbo asked hopefully. 

“I’m afraid not.” Gandalf denied. “The magic was all but depleted in bringing you here. Even if it wasn’t, it was the rings connecting that pulled you to this point in time. Both rings are now here. You cannot return the same way you arrived.” 

Bilbo ran his good hand through his hair, his knee bouncing in agitation. “Then how are we supposed to get back?!”

“I do not know. The white council may be able to find a way.”

“And how long will that take?” Thorin asked since Bilbo was too irritated to do so. 

“A while, I’m afraid. Unfortunately, we have more pressing matters to take care of first.”

“What could be more important than us being stuck here?! We were in the middle of a battle?! What about Fili and Kili?! They could be coming back for us! Getting caught in the trap!” Bilbo ranted, clearly agitated. 

“The ring.” Gandalf answered patiently and Bilbo calmed enough to listen. “Sauron is growing in power. His riders are already searching for it.” Frodo shivered. “We must destroy it before he can get his hands on it . . and end him for good.”

“You’re . . going to destroy it?” Bilbo asked looking conflicted. “What does that entail exactly?”

“You’re going to Mordor . . to throw it into Mount Doom.” Thorin sighed 

Bilbo stared at him with wide eyes before turning back to Gandalf for confirmation. “You can’t be serious.” Gandalf only nodded. “With hobbits?!”

“Hobbits have proven the most resilient to the ring. If we have any hope, our hope rests in a hobbit.” Aragorn interjected. 

Bilbo gave him a look of disbelief. “How could you possibly know that?! Have you . . experimented with this assumption.”

“It’s because of you!” Merry piped up. “Isn’t that right?” He looked around for confirmation. 

“That’s right.” Gandalf said with a small smile. “You carried the ring for over sixty years. Yet, when the time came, you chose to give it up willingly. A feat no other mortal has achieved.”

Thorin puffed up with no little amount of pride, but Bilbo simply studied each of them in turn suspiciously. “So, you’re placing the fate of all middle-earth on an assumption formed by the example of one individual?”

“Wow. When ya put it that way, it does sound a bit crazy, doesn’t it?” Pippin agreed and Merry swatted him. There were a few cleared throats. 

“Look.” Bilbo sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’m . . not just a hobbit. I’m just a _Baggins_! The least prepared or qualified for any of this nonsense. I just happened to run off after a gorgeous, broody dwarf king one day and bit off way more than I could chew! I am nothing special and certainly not someone who should be shaping the hope of the free races of middle-earth!”

Merry and Pippin giggled and even Sam quirked a smile. 

“I’m not broody.” Thorin grumbled, but hardly looked displeased with the description. 

“You are unbelievably broody. But it’s all right. It’s part of your charm.” Bilbo patted his knee.

Thorin huffed but there was an undeniable smirk on his lips. 

“You are too modest, my dear friend.” Gandalf denied fondly. “Why, thirteen dwarves could have never taken back the mountain if it weren’t for one unprepared and unqualified Baggins.”

Bilbo sighed and shook his head, unconvinced. “So what exactly is your plan?”

“We nine form the fellowship of the ring. We are tasked with bringing the ring bearer to Mount Doom safely, by our life or death.” Legolas explained. 

“The ‘ring bearer’ being Frodo Baggins.” Bilbo stated more than asked, covering his eyes and rest his head in his hand. 

“That’s right.” Aragorn answered. 

“The bearer of ‘my’ ring, if I'm understanding correctly?”

“That’s right.” Frodo nodded. 

“And how did you come to possess ‘my’ ring?” Bilbo’s hand shifted just enough for a calculating eye to peek out over it. 

“I, um, inherited it.” Frodo answered, not sure how much more he should say. 

Bilbo’s hand dropped and he pinned the other hobbit with a steady, studying gaze for several quiet moments. “How did the battle end?” He asked quietly, finally lowering his gaze. Frodo breathed a sigh of relief. He had never known his uncle to have such an intense gaze.

“I don’t think-“

“How does it end, Gandalf?!” He snarled, a strange hostility pouring out of his voice. 

Gandalf sighed. 

“I don’t think we should tell them.” Legolas recommended before the wizard could speak. Aragorn shook his head in agreement. 

“I don’t understand. They’re already learning about the future. What difference does it make?” Frodo wondered. 

“It could change things.” Aragorn answered. 

“But things could change for the better!” Gimli argued. “They could change their fate. I say we tell them!”

“Or it could change nothing and only make them hesitant to do what they must!” Aragorn returned. 

“What are you speaking of?” Thorin wondered suspiciously. 

“It is not wise for any of us to know our fates. It makes us hesitant to live our lives as we should.” Aragorn tried to convince. 

“Did I return to the Shire?” Bilbo interrupted. “Did I return alone?” He looked at Frodo, ignoring everyone else. 

Frodo hesitated, but there was something in his uncle’s eyes, like he already knew the answer. “Yes.” He answered quietly. 

Bilbo nodded, his expression falling, and covered his face with his hand once again. “No.” He whimpered, full of anguish. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand. What does that mean?” Thorin sought answers while he placed a comforting hand on his hobbit’s back. 

No one volunteered an answer. “It means you died.” Bilbo broke the silence stooping over to bury his face in his arms, his body shaking in silent sobs. 

“Is that true?” Thorin asked, his tone demanding an answer this time. Gandalf only nodded. “And my nephews?”

“Aye. Them too.” Gimli answered, receiving reproachful looks from some of the others.

Thorin swallowed thickly. “Perhaps . . it can be changed. It hasn’t happened yet.”

“It has already happened.” Bilbo whimpered. 

“I’m right here. I’m not dead yet.” He pulled the hobbit against his side. 

“After everything I’ve done to keep you alive, I still failed! Why are you so difficult? Why do you have to be so reckless?!” 

“I’m sorry.” Thorin tucked his curly head under his chin, rubbing his arm soothingly. 

“It’s not entirely his fault.” Gandalf interrupted. 

Bilbo scrubbed the tears away with his sleeve, peering out from Thorin’s embrace

“It’s very likely that the ring wanted him dead. It may have been the reason you fell to the gold sickness so easily.” Gandalf tried to comfort. 

Bilbo pulled away with a sniff. “So, it’s my fault.”

“No, of course not!”

“But I had the ring, Gandalf! I picked it up! If it wasn’t for me, it wouldn’t have been anywhere near him and he would have been fine!!”

“You couldn’t have known.” Aragorn argued. 

“There’s no innocence in ignorance!” Bilbo shouted back, wiped his face with his hand and shot up to his feet. 

“Where are you going?” Thorin asked as Bilbo started walking away from the camp. 

“To jump off a bloody cliff!”

“That’s not funny!” Thorin was up and after him before he even made it twenty feet. 

“Do I look like I’m bloody joking?!” Bilbo snapped back. 

“And what does that accomplish?! The ring is the problem! You’re such a clever hobbit! Why would you even consider something so stupid?!”

Bilbo stopped and spun around, his eyes wide with fury. “I have stalled trolls to save your arse!”

“Technically, you got us into that mess.” Thorin reminded, slowly backing up as Bilbo stalked towards him. 

“I tackled an orc for you!”

“And I have never doubted you since.” Thorin tried to placate, holding his hands up in surrender. 

“I fought giant spiders for you . . alone!! I stormed a bloody spider nest!”

“I- . . You did what?”

“I starved in a elven dungeon to find a way to free you!”

“You stormed the nest alone?!”

“I nearly drowned riding a bloody barrel down the river freeing your stone arse!”

“That was your idea!”

“I stole your bloody arkenstone!!” Bilbo screamed at him, having caught up.

“You did what you had to do. You always have. After everything you’ve done, why are you giving up now?”

“This is me not giving up, Thorin! If one ring caused so much trouble, can you imagine what two will do?! If keeping you alive means staying far away from you, then, damnit, I’ll march to Mordor all by myself!”

“Do you even know the way to Mordor?” Thorin crossed his arms stubbornly. 

“As a matter of fact, yes! South and east of Gondor! My father was a map collector! I’ve studied maps all my life!”

“Knowing where something is is different than getting there. How will you navigate?”

Bilbo hesitated in doubt. “We’re in the Misty Mountains.”

Thorin nodded. “The same Mountains where we were arrested and almost tortured by goblins.”

Bilbo’s eyes shifted around as he thought. “I’ll just . . . go back to Rivendell and take the main road south.”

“You’ll take the main road . . . alone . . . in plain sight?” Thorin quirked a brow. 

“Oh, cut me some slack! I’m starved and sleep deprived! I have a bloody head injury!” He pointed at his temple. ‘I’ll figure something out! Don’t you think that I won’t!” He stabbed Thorin roughly in the chest with his finger. 

Thorin’s lips turned up just slightly in suppressed amusement. “I have already learned my lesson in underestimating you.” He gently captured the offending finger. “But there is no reason for you to go on your own when we are already on our way to Mordor. Besides, if you’ll remember, I saved your life a few times as well.”

Bilbo glared up at him. “What if y- what if we don’t make it to Mordor? Hmm? With two rings causing trouble? I will jump off a bloody mountain before I let myself be the reason you die!”

“Then you know exactly how I feel.” Thorin rumbled, leaning over him. "How can we protect each other, if we're apart?” 

Bilbo’s glare melted into something more vulnerable as his resolve weakened. He nodded, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Fine.” He conceded. “But if you die on me, so help me, Thorin, I will claw my way to the halls of Mahal and drag you back here and kill you myself! . . . Or at least subject you to an exposition of my entire extended family tree and history . . . Which would make Gloin seem short-winded in comparison, just so you know.”

Thorin laughed suddenly. “I’ve come to expect no less from you.” He chuckled.

Bilbo leaned his forehead against Thorin’s chest tiredly. “I’m tired.”

“Then come sit.” Thorin wrapped an arm around him and led him back to the rocks they’d been sitting on. 

“Yelling at you gives me a headache.” Bilbo complained, resting his head in his hand after sitting back down. 

“Then perhaps you should do it less.” Thorin teased.

“Maybe if you actually listened to me when I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have to.” Bilbo snarked back. 

“I’ll try to do better.” 

“So you’re gonna come with us then?” Merry piped up, he was munching on some nuts that he must have retrieved to watch the spectacle with. 

“No.” “Yes.” Aragorn and Thorin spoke at once. 

“You can’t come With us.” Aragorn asserted. 

“And why is that?” Thorin suppressed a growl. 

“You're not prepared for this journey. Bilbo’s in no shape for a quest like this. He needs time to recover.”

“And where would you have us go? We have no place in this time!”

Aragorn hesitated, not having an immediate answer. “They could go back to Rivendell.” Pippin suggested.

“No. The ring, any one ring, cannot stay in Rivendell.” Legolas disagreed. 

“He could give the ring to someone else.” Merry suggested. 

“What?” Bilbo sounded irritated. 

“Frodo cannot carry two rings and there are no other hobbits here that I would trust with the task.” Gandalf gave the younger hobbits the stink eye. 

“Then it’s settled. We have no choice but to accompany you. If it can’t get us home, there’s no point in keeping it around. We all go to Mordor. We destroy both rings. If we do manage to get back, our time will be better off for it.” Thorin summed up.

“You don’t know that. There's no telling what would happen if your ring were to be destroyed in this time. The entire future would be altered.” Legolas argued. 

“It was altered the moment we landed here.” Thorin returned. “And every moment we remain here, it continues to alter.”

“Thorin is right.” Gandalf sighed. “We cannot send them away. If Sauron were to attain even one of the rings, he would have the power to retrieve the other. Valar forbid he should ever acquire two One rings . . I do not even want to imagine the power he would possess. We would not stand a chance. Destroying the ring, from any time, is the only way to deal with it.”

“The hobbit is injured. He needs medical attention. At the very least, he’ll slow us down.” Boromir added. 

“Heard that one before.” Bilbo mumbled. 

“Bilbo is stronger and more capable than you know.” Thorin growled. “How many dragons have you riddled with?” 

“I only meant-“

"I don't care what you meant!" Thorin snapped back. "We don't need your consideration. We'll take care of ourselves." He fingered his sword's hilt threateningly.

"Peace!" Aragorn interfered. "You're skill is not in question. His hand is unusable and, as he has pointed out numerous times, he has a head injury. We will not have the means to recover his health on this journey. By bringing him, you only put him at greater risk."

"It doesn't matter." Bilbo's quiet mumble cut off the argument. "I have no where to go. I carry the ring. And I'm not giving it to you." His voice lowered possessively at the end and he gave the men a dark glare. 

The fellowship exchanged glances between themselves but no one ventured to argue.

"Unfortunately, he's right." Gandalf agreed. "It seems the fellowship of the ring has gained two members. We are now the fellowship of the _rings_. We will simply have to nurse Bilbo back to health the best we can on the way."

The camp fell silent in reluctant and satisfied acceptance. The quest to Mordor was already proving to be even more eventful then they had expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Thorin and Bilbo are starting to get acquainted with their new companions and more details are revealed about Bilbo's relations to the new hobbits. He finds an opportunity to demonstrate his superior social knowledge of the Shire.


	4. Family Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy update day! Everyone stay safe out there!
> 
> The poll is still going for updates so be sure to get your vote in [here](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/620529761179123712/300-ao3-subscribers) if you haven't already. Check out the post to see what's available. You can vote by commenting on the post, sending me an ask, or letting me know which two works you'd like to vote for here in the comments. But get it in quick! I'll be counting up the votes in a couple days! ;)

It was dark and the camp was silent. Thorin had volunteered to take first watch with Aragorn and sought out his hobbit as soon as Boromir woke to relieve him. He tread carefully towards where Bilbo sat huddled against some rocks, his dwarven boots still crunching the stones beneath his feet despite his efforts. 

He knew Bilbo was still awake and suspected it wasn’t just because of the cold. His poor hobbit was curled up in a ball, away from the others, and shivering after having lost all his extra padding to the quest. 

Thorin slipped off his fur coat, an old one that had survived the years in an old Ereborian wardrobe, and draped it over his hobbit, sitting down before further encasing it around him. “You could have slept closer to the others. I’m sure they would have shared a blanket.” Thorin wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pulled him against his chest.” 

Bilbo curled up against him, tucking the fur around him tighter. “I d-d-don’t know them.” 

“Yes, but they are allies, not enemies.”

“Would you c-curl up with Th-Thranduil?”

“I hate Thranduil.”

“You don’t trust Thranuduil.”

“They're just hobbits.”

“Not any I know.”

Thorin huffed. “I think we’ve rubbed off on you.”

Bilbo snuggled closer, getting more comfortable as his shivering slowly abated. The coat was already warm from Thorin wearing it and he quickly soaked up the heat. Thorin settled in as well and set his scabbard across his lap for easy access. He supposed he didn’t have much room to talk. 

“I can’t lose you,” Bilbo whispered against him.

Thorin heard a sniff and tightened his hold. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“We’ll find a way.” Thorin rested his cheek on Bilbo’s curls. “For the boys too.” Bilbo sniffed again but nodded. “Try to get some sleep, Ghivashel.”

His hobbit didn’t need much encouragement. Finally warm and with his dwarf by his side, Bilbo quickly fell asleep. Thorin stroked his hair. It was true his hobbit was in no shape to make another long and dangerous journey. Even without his injuries, he had become alarmingly thin during their stay in the elven dungeons. Thorin knew he was exhausted and emotionally wrecked from everything they’d been through, but he also knew that sending him away, separating, wouldn't help matters. 

If anything, his stubborn, self-sacrificing hobbit would run off -- alone and just as bad off -- and try to fix everything by himself. No, he needed to keep Bilbo close where he could keep an eye on him. Besides, he wasn't eager to be parted anyway. 

The sting of betrayal, betrayal from his One, had been enough to cut through the madness and clear his mind. It was hurt that fueled his anger and he realized too late that it had been all his own fault. He had banished his own One and believed that Bilbo would surely hate him. 

Then Bilbo had come running up Ravenhill -- through a bloody battle no less! -- just to warn him. His relief had quickly morphed into frustration. He would not leave his One behind. All he wanted to do was beg for forgiveness. How had they ended up fighting instead? 

He huffed softly. The whole fight was rather amusing as he thought back on it, amusing and pathetic. The whole time all they wanted was each other, but they each believed that there was something standing between them. For Bilbo, it was the Arkenstone. For Thorin, it was the shame left behind after his madness. 

Thorin hugged his hobbit just a little tighter. He might have kept silent, let Bilbo walk away because of his shame. He hadn’t felt worthy to repair things between them. Thank Mahal for his One’s tenacity, his willfulness to pick hatefully at what he believed stood between them, to bait Thorin into a petty fight. 

For petty it was at the beginning, but, had he not started that petty squabble, they may have never truly reconciled, gotten to the bottom of what was truly coming between them. Bilbo had poured himself out emotionally, his pain and most certainly his anger. It was no wonder he was so drained. It was like cleaning out a wound and now Thorin hoped it would be able to heal. At least he would be there to apply the salve.

He just needed to figure out how to stay alive. The thought of leaving his One in such agony was unbearable. He _would_ find a way, for himself and his nephews. Perhaps Mahal had granted them this time to do so. They would get through this quest, get back home, and they would survive. He would take his place as King under the mountain and Bilbo would stand by his side as his consort. They would find a way.

He drifted off to images of his One, dressed in royal robes and wearing as munch gold and jewels as Thorin could fit on him. He probably wouldn’t allow it, but Thorin could dream.

_~~Frodo~~_

The next morning, they ate a quick breakfast and broke camp, moving on again before the sun was even fully up. Frodo walked a few paces behind his uncle, watching him closely as he contemplated everything he had learned. 

It hurt that Bilbo didn’t trust them, but he was trying not to take it personally. This wasn’t the same Bilbo that had raised him like his own son. He hadn’t meant to overhear their talk the night before. He just happened to be having trouble sleeping himself as his mind struggled to wrap around everything that had happened. 

He had never even imagined that there had been . . . romantic feelings between his uncle and the king. Though, in retrospect, the king had always been depicted as honorable and heroic, flawless even. Frodo didn’t know half of what they had been talking about. Tackling orcs? Stealing an Arkenstone? Being thrown from the mountain? 

None of those ever made it into Bilbo's stories. In fact, the way he told them, Bilbo always seemed like little more than a spectator. It was always the king or one of the other dwarves that saved the day. Maybe thats what had led to Frodo’s skepticism. The king was the hero, Bilbo was just the observer who recorded his feats. Thinking back on them, he only now realized there was something off about the stories. 

But, if the king had died and Bilbo had loved him, it would make sense why he would present his lost love in the best light possible. But wouldn’t he have mourned more? Had Frodo just been blind to it? Had everyone?

He had so many questions! He wanted to know! He eyed the younger version of his uncle again. Truthfully, he didn’t look all that much younger than the day of his eleventy-first birthday, the ring having preserved his youth. But this Bilbo was weak and worn like Frodo had never seen, on any hobbit for that matter! 

And suspicious. His uncle stayed close to the king’s side at nearly all times. He contributed little to conversations and initiated even less. Frodo couldn’t tell if it was because of his health or simply because he didn’t trust them. 

As he was watching, Bilbo’s hand slipped from his pocket and lifted to his mouth before tucking back into his pocket. Frodo noticed something in his hand. 

“Sam!” He backhanded his poor gardener a little too enthusiastically in the chest. “Fish me out some jerky and cram,” he whispered. 

“What for, Mister Frodo. Mister Strider said not to be snackin',” Sam wondered even as he did as he was told. 

“Bilbo barely ate any breakfast. We need to spare him as much as we can.” 

Sam nodded and handed over what Frodo had asked for. Frodo picked up his pace, weaving through his cousins in order to catch up with his uncle. A hobbit in Bilbo’s condition needed to be eating as much as possible. It was as good as any excuse to talk to him. 

“Hey,” he greeted as he came up beside him. “H-How are you doing?” he fumbled, not sure how else to start.

Bilbo turned to him, his tired eyes studying him for a moment. Thorin also turned to consider him, looking far more intimidating than any dwarf who'd been given a bloody nose from a hobbit had any right to. The big dwarf glanced to Bilbo before turning his gaze forward again. 

“I’m still alive. That’s the most I can hope for recently,” Bilbo mumbled. 

“Ah.” Frodo hesitated, unsure where to go from there. He’d only know his uncle to be this frosty with the Sackville-Baggins. 

“Frodo, was it?” Bilbo picked up after several beats of silence. “Sorry, I’m afraid being surrounded by dwarrow has done horrors to my manners.” He sighed. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, it’s alright. It’s just, I noticed you didn’t eat much this morning.”

“My stomach can only handle so much at the moment.”

“I figured. That’s why you should have these.” Frodo held out the cram and jerky. “Something to help keep you going,” he offered almost shyly. 

Bilbo looked at the food then back to him. The corner of his mouth twisted up just barely. “Thanks.” He accepted the morsels before hiding them away in his coat pockets. “So, how’d you get wrangled into this nasty little adventure?”

”Oh, I volunteered-- I mean, not at first!” Frodo rushed to explain after receiving a raised brow from his uncle. “It was my ring, so, when Gandalf showed up at my smial and told me I needed to go, . . I just . . . went, I guess. It didn’t really occur to me not to.”

“And it was so wonderful you decided to take it all the way to Mordor.” Bilbo's dry sarcasm was familiar at least. 

“No. It was miserable. I, um, barely made it to Rivendell. Honestly, I just wanted to go back home.”

“Then why’d you volunteer?”

Frodo shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess, I did it for my uncle. He would have taken it himself if he could.” He chuckled softly. “I . . . wanted to make him proud, I guess.”

Bilbo studied him thoughtfully. “You’re uncle sounds like an idiot.”

Frodo gave him a conflicted look, not sure how he should feel about that statement.

“Even more so if he’s not already proud,” Bilbo added. “You’re a good hobbit.”

Frodo blushed. It’s not like his uncle never praised him, but it felt more . . . genuine coming from a Bilbo who didn’t think of him as a son. “Thanks.”

Bilbo gave him a small crooked grin. “Don’t ment-“ He cut off abruptly when he tripped over a rock, his tired foot not lifting high enough to miss it. Stumbling, he heading face-first for the ground but stopped halfway as Thorin snatched him back up and set him back on his feet.

“You all right?” Thorin rumbled over him. The others stopped around them to wait.

“Yeah. . . Yeah. Keep-keep going.” Bilbo pushed them on. 

Thorin tried to steady him by the arm but Bilbo shrugged him off. When that failed, the dwarf sent Frodo a quick warning glare and made sure to pay closer attention to his hobbit. 

Frodo flinched guiltily. Perhaps it wasn’t the best time for conversation. 

“We’ll talk tonight.” Bilbo grabbed his elbow briefly to get his attention. “I should probably watch where I’m going.” 

Frodo nodded, feeling a little better. He walked beside his uncle whenever the width of the path allowed it, falling just behind him when it didn’t. As the day went on, it became clearer that Bilbo was sticking close to the dwarf king for his own sake. He stumbled several more times, the near falls happening more frequently as the day wore on.

By early evening, he’d given up the appearance of independence and gripped Thorin’s arm for support. No one was as relieved as he was when they finally stopped to make camp for the night. 

He collapsed to the ground with a groan. “Eru, what I wouldn’t give for my walking stick.” He pulled a jerky from his pocket and took a tired bite. “Why exactly are we climbing a bloody mountain anyway? There’s got to be easier ways to get to Mordor,” he complained. 

“The easy paths are being watched,” Aragorn answered.

“And this one’s not?” Bilbo doubted.

“We've not come across any enemies yet,” Boromir returned. 

“Orcs and goblins aren’t the only enemies that an kill you. It’s getting bloody cold up here.” Bilbo pushed himself up onto a nearby smooth rock. 

Thorin immediately surrendered his coat, hanging it over Bilbo’s small shoulders. The worn hobbit tucked it around him with a murmured 'thanks.’

They bustled around, making camp and preparing dinner. Legolas checked and treated Bilbo’s injuries again, declaring the threat of concussion passed. Soon they had a small fire going, though they had to scour the slopes for wood, and a hot dinner cooking. It looked like hot meals were going to become scarce as they reached higher elevations. 

Bilbo sat quietly, wrapped up in Thorin’s coat, but his sharp eyes never ceased studying his fellow hobbits. “I recognize that scabbard.” He broke the quiet hum of private conversations. “Why do you have Sting?” he directed at Frodo. 

Frodo looked down at his belt. He usually forgot he even had it, considering he’d never used it. “It was . . . given to me.”

“Like the ring?” Bilbo narrowed his eyes. Thorin seemed to pick up on the suspicion in his hobbit’s voice and wandered over to stand beside him. 

“Sort of? I inherited the ring. The sword was given to me later.”

“And why would I give you my ring . . . and my sword?” Bilbo continued to study him intensely. 

Everyone was listening now and Frodo wasn’t sure if there was a limit to how much he should tell. “Um.” He glanced around, looking for any sign to keep his mouth shut. “Because I was your heir.”

“You said you were a Baggins?” Thorin was studying him closely now as well. Frodo nodded. “You gave him your ring? Your sword? Is he-“

“No.” Bilbo cut his dwarf off. “He’s not mine.” His studying gaze finally broke and he lowered his head.

“It’s possible,” Thorin rumbled softly. 

“No.” Bilbo chuckled dryly. “It’s not. If you die, Thorin, I am not marrying. I will die a bloody confirmed bachelor!” Thorin didn’t look convinced. “Who are your parents?” Bilbo directed back to Frodo.

“Primula and Drogo Baggins.”

“Primula? Brandybuck?” Frodo nodded. “Really?” Bilbo chuckled. “I bet that went over well.” 

“I don’t really remember.”

Bilbo rubbed at his dirty face. “Well, I suppose the Shire should be getting used to it by now. Drogo? He’s a good lad. He must not have turned out too bad if he married a Brandybuck. How are they?”

“They died. When I was a faunt. A boating accident.”

“Oh.” Bilbo’s face fell. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I stayed with my Brandybuck cousins for a while . . . before you adopted me.”

“I did what now?” Bilbo gave him a disbelieving stare.

“You adopted me.” Frodo smirked at the reaction. “Made me heir of Bag End and everything.”

“I am so sorry,” Bilbo apologized. 

“Don’t be!” Frodo laughed. “You may have been the strangest hobbit in the Shire, but you were a great uncle.”

There was some snickering from the other hobbits and Bilbo looked like he thought he should be insulted but wasn’t quite feeling it. 

“So Bilbo is your uncle,” Thorin asked. “The one you’ve been talking about?”

Frodo blushed at being found out. “Yeah.”

“I’m not even your uncle. We’re cousins.” Bilbo's face twisted in confusion.

“Yeah, I know. But, because of the age difference, it just felt more appropriate. You didn’t seem to mind.”

Bilbo studied him carefully again. “How old are you, Frodo?”

“Fifty.”

“Fifty?!” Thorin and Gimli echoed.

“Same as you.” Frodo pointed to his uncle.

“Almost.” Bilbo nodded. “I turned fifty-one in Laketown.”

Thorin rubbed a hand over his mouth and beard, muttering in Khuzdul. “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

“What?” Bilbo returned. “That I was fifty or that I had a birthday?”

“Both!”

Bilbo shrugged. “There wasn’t much to tell. Fifty is middle-aged for a hobbit and hobbit birthdays aren’t all that great unless you're there for the free food and booze. It was actually nice not to have to scramble for gifts for everyone. Besides, you were too caught up in your mountain.” He waved a dismissive hand at his dwarf.

Thorin went sheepishly silent. 

“Why would you give gifts on your birthday? Shouldn’t everyone else be bringing you gifts?” Boromir wondered. 

“That’s not how it works for hobbits.” Merry jumped in. “You give presents to all your guests on your birthday.”

“Yeah, it makes your own birthday a bit of a bummer. But it’s great when other people have birthdays!” Pippin added. “At least ya only have ta do it once a year.” Merry nodded in agreement. 

Sam declared the stew done and went about pouring it into bowls. He grabbed the first bowl and walked it over to Bilbo. "Here you go, Mister Bilbo," he offered somewhat shyly. "You can have seconds if you like. There should be enough." 

"'Mister Bilbo'?" Bilbo echoed as he took the bowl. "You must be a Gamgee."

"That's right. Samwise Gangee." 

Bilbo nodded. "Good hobbits, the Gamgees. Sam then?"

"Yes, sir."

"How old are you, Sam?"

"Um, thirty-nine, sir," Sam answered uncertainly.

"And you're the gardener?"

"Yes, sir. Mister Frodo's gardener, sir."

Bilbo nodded again, giving him a small smile. "Good hobbits, the Gamgees. Devoted. Loyal."

Sam blushed at the compliments and shuffled back to the pot.

Bilbo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. “You.” Bilbo pointed at Merry, squinting at him. “You’re a Brandybuck.” It sounded almost accusing. 

“Aye.” Merry confirmed looking like he wasn’t sure if he should be insulted. “Meriadoc Brandybuck, but you can call me Merry.”

Bilbo was still wearing his crooked smile. “How old are you Merry?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“And what brings you on this quest?”

“Uh, well, couldn’t just let poor Frodo go alone,” Merry smiled innocently. 

Bilbo continued to stare at him with narrowed eyes for a moment before his gaze slid over to the last hobbit in the company. “And you.” He pointed, sounding absolutely accusing. “I’d bet Bag End that you’re a Took.”

Pippin smiled, shamelessly proud of it. “Yep! Peregrin Took, but everyone just calls me Pippin.”

“How’d you know all that?” Merry wondered. “You’ve never even met us before. Our parents probably aren’t even of age in your time.”

“I pay attention,” Bilbo answered. “In case you’ve forgotten, the Brandybucks and Tooks are my families too. They have . . . unique characteristics. . . . and the Gamgees have always been good friends to me.” He turned back to Pippin. “And how old are you, Pippin?”

“Thirty-three,” Pippin answered cheerfully and without hesitation. 

Frodo sent him a glance before studying his uncle. Bilbo’s smile dropped and one of his brows rose as he continued to stare at the youngest hobbit. 

“So young!” Gimli exclaimed. Thorin rubbed a hand over his face muttering. 

“How old are you, Pippin?” Bilbo asked again, the intensity of his stare starting to make all of the other hobbits uncomfortable. 

Pippin’s cheeky smile faltered. “All right. Th-thirty-one, but it’s not that bad.”

Bilbo’s gaze darkened until he was outright glaring. Pippin fidgeted and Merry scooted away from him, muttering that he was on his own.

“U-um.”

“Just tell him the truth!” Sam whispered-yelled, intimidated by a glare that wasn’t even meant for him. 

“Uh, th-that is the truth,” Pippin defended weakly. 

“He’s twenty-nine!” Merry blurted out, unable to take the pressure any longer. 

“Merry!”

“Sorry, Pip,” Merry apologized. “He got to me.”

Bilbo didn’t say anything. He carefully set his bowl down next to the rock he was sitting on. His movements were deceptively calm, but the strange set of his features revealed there was a raging fury underneath. 

“Gandalf!” He drew out the name in a snarl. The younger hobbits shifted uneasily as the tension in the atmosphere foretold a coming storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo takes the wizard to task for bringing along underage hobbits on such a dangerous quest.
> 
> Those are all their canon ages, btw. ;)
> 
> So, the bad news is I've run out of chapters for this for now, so it'll be a little while before it gets another update. But, don't worry. I haven't forgotten it. Hopefully, I'll be able to work on it again soon. :)


	5. Heated Arguments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My new update schedule is pinned on my [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/domesticgoddesswriter) page. Check it out to know when to expect updates for your favorite fics. 😉
> 
> Enjoy! 🥰

“Gandalf!” Bilbo stomped toward the wizard like a miniature storm of rage. “What were you bloody thinking?”

“Now, Bilbo--“

“No! It’s bad enough to drop in on respectable adult hobbits—Baggins’ even!—sending them running out their door for some happy, flowery adventure that doesn’t bloody exist! How dare you hook young, underage hobbits who have no idea what one of _your_ adventures truly entails into marching to bloody Mordor!” Bilbo screamed, shoving his finger fiercely in the wizard’s face.

Aragorn stepped closer, looking conflicted as to who he should be protecting in this situation--Gandalf or the enraged hobbit barely half the wizard’s size. “No one hooked anyone into anything.” He tried to diffuse the situation. He was ignored. 

“I did not hook-- This is a very serious quest!” Gandalf rebutted defensively. 

“So you decided it made sense to bring underage hobbits?” Bilbo shrieked. Walking in little circles, he pulled at his hair and muttered unintelligibly. 

No less concerned by the revelation of the hobbits’ ages, Thorin joined his partner in the offensive. “What would possess you to bring younglings on such an important quest? Do they even know what lies before them? Did you bother to explain the full extent of the perils that await them in Mordor? If they even make it that far? You have not even crossed the mountains and already you believe the enemy is watching and working against you! What chance do these soft, untrained hobbits have of surviving let alone being useful on this quest? . . . No offense.” He turned to his hobbit. 

Stopping, Bilbo crossed his arms with a huff. “I thought I did fairly well for a soft, untrained hobbit.”

“You were exceptional.”

“Thank you.” Bilbo seemed appeased. “Not bad for a Baggins.”

“Not at all.” Thorin spared his lover a soft smile. 

Gandalf huffed at the private timeout. “It is not as if I _chose_ them. Every member of the fellowship volunteered their service to the cause.” 

Returning his focus to the wizard, Thorin glared, but even he took a step back when Bilbo chuckled darkly. There was no mirth in the hobbit’s laughter. The younger hobbits huddled around Frodo, and even the men felt a chill of unease. 

“Oh, right. Well, then. Since they _volunteered_ , I suppose that makes it all okay, doesn’t it? Let's just stuff them all into sacks and toss them into Mount Doom.” Bilbo's artificial smile fell away into a fierce scowl. “Do you even hear yourself? If a faunt stumbles out of a smial and says they want to go on an adventure, does that give you the right to ship them off to Mordor?”

“Oi! I’m not a faunt!” Pippin stuck his head out from behind Frodo to protest. 

“Tween,” Bilbo snarled back. “It’s hardly any better. Especially for a Took.”

“Oi!”

“They are not children,” Gandalf scoffed. 

“Pippin is underage! Child or not, he is not of an age considered capable of making relevant life decisions! I should think that marching off to Mordor—a potentially life-threatening endeavor—would count as one such decision! And! You didn’t answer Thorin’s questions. Which means it’s safe to assume they barely even know where they’re going or what their supposed to be doing! Did you brief them? Did you train them? Did you at least present them with a list of all the gruesome ways they could meet their demise? Which, by the way, I _only_ received because the dwarrow wanted to make it very clear which particular modes of death they would not be held responsible for! You would have let me believe the whole trip was just to be one big walking holiday!”

“That’s not true! You knew perfectly well there was to be a dragon involved.” Gandalf pointed out. “As for everything else, I could hardly have anticipated every little hiccup in the quest.”

“Hiccup?” Bilbo looked like he might pop a vein. “ _Hiccup?_ You weren’t even there for half the quest!” He pointed accusingly. “If it weren’t for _me_ , we’d have been dead before your lazy arse decided to show up and turn the trolls to stone! If it weren’t for _me_ , the dwarrow would have been eaten by spiders. If it weren’t _me_ , the whole company would still be rotting in Thranduil’s dungeons! You don’t even know half what we suffered! What I suffered!”

“My friend, it was never my intention--"

“Your intentions mean nothing! The fact is you knew it was going to be dangerous! Even without everything that happened on the way, you knew the dragon could mean instant death!”

“I had every confidence in your abilities.”

“I’m a bloody hobbit!” Bilbo shrieked. “A bloody _gentle_ -hobbit! I don’t even weed my own garden! What ability exactly was your confidence in?”

“Clearly, you underestimated your own skills as you did a wonderful job. You managed to get the entire company to the mountain alive and on time.”

“You- Just- What- Gah!” Bilbo threw up his arms and pulled at his hair. “You’re bloody infuriating!”

“Bilbo. Stop.” Thorin attempted to intercept for the sake of his hobbit's poor curls before they could be yanked out of Bilbo’s head. 

“It was not my intention to bring hobbits on this quest. Frodo was needed to bring the ring to Imladris, but, from there, it was by no design of mine that he be chosen to take the ring to Mordor. That was his decision. The others volunteered, and I saw no reason to separate the ring bearer from a vital supportive group of family.”

“Excuse me? Vital support group? Of young cousins? Do you even--" Bilbo growled in frustration. “Of all the irresponsible, negligent, ridiculous, moronic, half-assed,” he continued with a string of insults and curses. 

“Hardly!”

“You’re full of hot air, you old coot, and we both know it! You just haphazardly throw together a plan with little more than a path and destination and just hope that it all works out in the end! Hobbits are not your personal, magical cure-alls! Stop dragging us into quests meant for bloody trained warriors! We’re not your personal chess pieces! You overgrown, bald-foot!”

The hobbits gasped at the insult, though the others just seemed confused, Gandalf at least seemed to be aware of the exact nature of the insult. “Bilbo Baggins!” He stood menacingly, his power growing like a shadow around him.

Stomping forward, unfazed by the display, Bilbo wrapped his good hand around the tip of the wizard’s long beard. “Don’t you dare ‘Bilbo Baggins’ me!” He yanked with all his might and knocked the wizard out of his intimidating display. “I’m bloody sick of you playing with our lives like we’re bloody disposable! I'm gonna make your face as bald as your feet!” He grabbed another chunk of hair in his wrapped hand. That’s when the others finally jumped into action. 

“Bilbo, stop!” Thorin grabbed him from behind while both men tried to pry his fingers out of the wizard’s beard. 

“What are you doing?” Boromir struggled with one small hand. “He’s a bloody wizard!”

“He’s a no-good soft-foot who finds it amusing to throw unsuspecting hobbits into life-threatening situations!”

“Bilbo!” Thorin continued to wrestles his hobbit away. “You’re going to hurt yourself!”

The men each shot him an incredulous look, neither thinking that was the immediate concern at hand. Finally they pried his hands free, and the hobbit and wizard were separated. Continuing to struggle against Thorin’s hold, a string of colorful hobbitish curses rolled of Bilbo's tongue, making the younger hobbits gasp and snicker. 

Clearing his throat, Gandalf recovered himself and smoothed his now disheveled beard. “That was . . . unexpected.”

Bilbo slowly calmed in Thorin’s arms. “I’ve faced spiders as big as ponies and giant trolls. I’ve faced a bloody dragon. I’ve faced those I love who looked at me as a betrayer! You don’t scare me Gandalf Greyhem!” Making one last violent jerk toward the wizard, Bilbo ran out of steam and relaxed into his dwarf.

“You have faced many dangerous.”

“Thanks to you.”

“I always knew the quest impacted you greatly—changed you. Perhaps I was blinded by my own pride as to how much.”

“I can’t imagine.” Bilbo had calmed enough for Thorin’s to set him back on his feet. 

“But the fact remains that hobbits are the most resistant to the ring. I do not regret my choices.”

“Of course you bloody don’t! Because as long as the world stays in one piece it doesn’t matter if you have to sacrifice a few hobbits to do it! And will the world know it was on the backs of hobbits that you rode to success? No! They’ll only remember the great deeds of men, elves, dwarves and wizards! We’re nothing but pawns to you! Underappreciated and disposable!”

“That is not true! I have always considered you a dear friend.” 

“Right. And I’m sure the guilt of ruining my life had nothing to do with your so-called ‘friendship.’ Which, I will remind you, didn’t exist until you decided you needed something from me.” 

“It was never my intention to hurt you. Or any hobbit.”

“I don’t care about your intentions. What matters is the pain you cause. I will not stand by and watch you march these hobbits into Morder like Orc fodder. And Eru knows you’re unfit to look out for them. Your track record stinks!”

“He’s right,” Thorin agreed, still supporting his hobbit. “You’re useless half the time. We will look after the hobbits.” 

“We will _all_ look after the hobbits,” Aragorn corrected. “Though Master Baggins seems quite capable, the fact remains that he’s a ring bearer and will need as much of our protection as the others.”

Bilbo flashed him a dirty look. “I can take care of myself.”

“You are injured and weakened.”

“Could still take you,” Bilbo mumbled. 

“I highly doubt that, little one,” Boromir chuckled. 

“Little one?” Bilbo returned indignantly. “I am a perfectly respectable height for a Baggins!”

“No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just--“

“That I’m a hobbit?" Bilbo set his fists on his hips. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe it’s men and elves who are just grotesquely tall?” 

“Uh . . . “

“What about dwarrow?” Thorin wondered.

“What? No. You’re sexy tall. It’s totally different. Look at them.” Bilbo gestured to the men and elf in question. “They’re all limbs. It’s unsettling.”

Merry and Pippin snickered. The men didn’t look entirely sure whether they should be insulted or not. Legolas simply seemed amused. 

Aragorn shook his head. “The fact remains that we have hobbits—including an underage hobbit—in the fellowship, and it’s too late to change that. But many boys have have had to march to battle before they’ve become men. It’s a tragedy, but an inevitable one in times like these none-the-less.”

Bilbo raised a hostile brow. “Excuse me?” Marching over to the hobbits that cowered at his advance, he yanked Pippin out of the huddle. The young Took protested as Bilbo dragged him over to present him to the man. “And do you send your younglings to war at this size?”

“Um . . .”

“Oi! I’m taller than you!” Pippin pointed out indignantly. 

“That's not the bloody point!”

“He is though,” Boromir agreed. “They all are. You’re the smallest hobbit here and apparently far more formidable than your size would suggest.”

“Wha- H-How dare you! I am not- No! That is still not the point!”

“He’s right. You’re not really helping your argument.” Thorin lifted his palms in surrender when Bilbo turned on him with a glare. 

“This is exactly my point!” Bilbo insisted, releasing his young cousin. “We’re hobbits! We don’t have the speed and agility of elves or the height of men or the sturdiness and strength of dwarves or the magic of wizards! There’s reason you big folk call us halflings. It’s because, even full grown, we’re considered only half a man.” 

“You sell yourself and your people short, Master Baggins.” Aragorn tried to argue, but Bilbo intercepted before he could say anymore. 

“Is that supposed to be funny?"

"No, that's not what I--"

"You think this is what _I_ believe? No, no. You see, thanks to that bloody wizard, I’ve gotten out—seen the world. And I’ve heard what other people’s—your peoples!—think of us. We’re not good for anything but growing things and parties. Simpletons, even. Why you'd put the fate of the world in the hands of a hobbit is beyond me.” 

“Things have changed, my friend.” Gandalf leaned forward on his staff. “Because Of you.”

Bilbo scoffed and crossed his arms. 

“Aye.” Gimli stepped forward. “There ain’t a dwarf alive who don’t know of the bravery and skill of the hobbit Bilbo Baggins, burglar of Thorin Oakenshield, liberator of Erebor.”

“What skill? I just made it up as I went. That’s ridiculous. People shouldn’t make up such nonsense.” Bilbo waved dismissively. 

“Indeed. Even the Dunedain have herd of your heroics. And the elves speak in wonder of your accomplishments for one so small,” Aragorn added, turning to Legolas for confirmation. 

“That’s right. I have never heard such awe in my father’s voice as when he recounts your deeds.”

Bilbo scoffed again, though a slight blush flushed his cheeks. “Ridiculous.”

“If anyone can see this quest to the finish, it won’t be a man or a dwarf or an elf or even a wizard.” Gandalf garnered their attention. “It will be a hobbit that destroys the ring and brings an end to the Dark Lord. And, not just a hobbit, but a very special hobbit.” His gaze on the defiant Baggins warmed, and he stroked his long beard. “In fact, I am greatly encouraged by your presence. Perhaps the Valar have acted in our favor.”

Bilbo threw his hands up. “You’re daft, old man! Look at me! I have two broken fingers. I’m about ready to waste away, and I have a bloody head injury! Do I look like some bloody savior of middle-earth?”

Gandalf chuckled. “Yes, actually. For the secret of your success was not unparalleled skill, power or knowledge. Your strength comes from a cunning mind, a stubborn will, and a good heart.” He tapped the hobbit’s head and chest with his staff. 

Crossing his arms again, Bilbo remained unimpressed. “You’re full of it.” He swatted the staff and walked away muttering. “Stupid wizard. Stupid dragon. Stupid rock. Stupid ring. Stupid dark lord. Stupid quest. Stupid mountain.” 

The others watched in amusement as he paced in a little circle and continued to curse every unpleasant thing he could think of.

“Gandalf’s right,” Gimli spoke. “Not just the Burglar, we have the legendary Thorin Oakenshield with us now! The enemy don’t stand a chance!”

Thorin cleared his throat. “I’m sure the stories have embellished my feats. I wouldn’t expect too much.”

“You’re the Liberator of Erebor! You fought a dragon!”

“I ran from a dragon and failed to kill it. That honor goes to Bard. Nor did I find the door or heart of the mountain, those feats belong solely to Bilbo. We wouldn’t have even made it to the mountain with my leadership alone. The only story worthy feat I ever accomplished was to succumb to the gold sickness and turn on my own friends and kin—my own One.” He dipped his head in shame. 

“Not true,” Legolas corrected. “You broke free from the dragon sickness. You returned to yourself. No other has ever accomplished what you did.”

“I fear even that I own to my hobbit.” Thorin glanced back to Bilbo who had stopped and was just standing quietly with his back to them.

“Nay.” Gimli shook his head. “Even before the quest, your feats were legendary. Ye were as much a king then as ye were with all the riches of Erebor. My Adad still tells me stories of the battle of Azanulbizar—how ye proved yourself as king even before ye were one. Why else would twelve dwarrow follow ye to face a dragon. Ye died to protect that mountain. We still live there in peace, thanks to ye. Never stay you’re unworthy of yer fame. You’ve more than earned it.”

Nodding once, Thorin offered a small grateful smile. 

“Uh . . . “ Frodo tried to get their attention. 

“What is it?” Boromir glanced around warily.

“I think something’s wrong with Bilbo.” Frodo pointed to his still silent uncle.

“What?” Thorin marched over to investigate. “Bilbo?” He grabbed his hobbit’s shoulder when he didn’t respond. The gentle tug was too much, and Bilbo fell limply backward. “Bilbo!” Thorin caught him before the hobbit could hit the ground. Everyone rushed over to watch as the dwarf patted Bilbo's face to revive him.

“What happened? He was fine just a minute ago?” Frodo pushed his way to his uncle's side. 

Scowling, Bilbo swatted Thorin’s hands away. “Eat me later,” he mumbled and turned on his side, falling fast asleep again.

“What?” Frodo laughed in relief. 

“Was he sleeping?” Merry’s Face twisted in confusion. “While standing?”

“Sweet Yavanna!” Pippin exclaimed. “That’s amazing! He’s such a boss he’s taking _sleeping_ to the next level!”

“I highly doubt it was intentional.” Thorin scooped up his hobbit and took a seat nearby. With some help, he shrugged off his coat and covered the slumbering Baggins, refusing to lay his beloved’s defenseless form on the bare ground.

Aragorn shook his head in fond exasperation. “He’s quite a spitfire. He’s over exerted himself. He’s still recovering.”

Thorin only chuckled, unable to refute the comment. 

“He didn’t even eat his dinner.” Sam recovered the forgotten bowl.

“He can’t afford to be missing meals.” Frodo looked concerned. 

“He’ll be fine,” Thorin assured. “He’s been eating throughout the day. He’s gone far longer with less.”

“I’ll make sure he gets seconds for breakfast.” Sam nodded determinedly. 

“Thank you.”

Blushing, Sam retreated to the campfire. 

“He’s certainly more than I expected,” Boromir admitted. “For one so small, he has a big presence.”

“Aye! Warrior’s spirit is what we call it,” Gimli agreed. “Even the smallest of forms can possess the greatest of spirits.”

“That’s right,” Gandalf chuckled. “And very true. There is far more to this hobbit than even I foresaw.”

“He’s still injured and weak,” Aragorn reminded. 

“Yes, but as a ring bearer, his job is to carry the ring. Ours is to carry him if necessary.”

“Don’t let him hear you say that,” Thorin muttered. 

Gandalf laughed and nodded. “Quite!”

Boromir shook his head. “If we’re going to be carrying anyone, we’re going to need some sleep. It’s getting late. I’ll take first watch.”

“Aye. I’ll take second,” Gimli offered as they all sought out their bedrolls.

“You know I don’t need much sleep, right?” Legolas wondered. “I could keep all the watches for a few nights at least.”

Boromir grumbled, “Some of us still like to be useful.”

The elf just shrugged. 

Aragorn gripped Legolas’s Shoulder. “Two on watch is better anyway. We have two rings to worry about now.” He quickly glanced to the ring-bearers, and Legolas nodded. 

The fellowship settled down in their bedrolls. Frodo lay on his side so he could still see his uncle and King Thorin. They were so different than he imagined, not larger than life or near godlike, as he often envision the dwarf king. And yet, somehow better? It was a strange thing, reconciling everything he knew about his uncle and the dwarf with the characters before him. Still trying to imagine Bilbo’s stories with this new version of his uncle, he drifted off to sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The fellowship+2 head up the mountain and into the storm. Thorin and Gandalf butt heads, as usual, but a tumble down the mountain settles the matter.


	6. Raging Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!🥰

Bilbo was more subdued the next morning, seemingly over his fit of rage from the day before, but the others still tiptoed around him like he might go off again. Everyone but Thorin and Gandalf anyway. 

“Oh, stop it,” Bilbo scolded as they broke camp, carefully avoiding him. “I’m not going to rip anyone’s beard out today. Frankly, I don’t have the energy for it. But I feel like I was quite justified in my anger last night.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the rocks forming a wall behind him.

“Your concerns have been noted,” Aragorn responded diplomatically. “We will do everything in our power to protect them and you.”

Bilbo raised a brow. “A bit over-confident, aren’t you? Couldn’t even protect a wizard from an injured hobbit.”

Gandalf choked on his smoke laughing, and Thorin joined with a chuckle of his own. 

Aragorn wore a challenging look. “You are a strange character Master Baggins. You have all the sass of a hobbit and all the stubbornness of a dwarf. They must have rubbed off on you after spending so much time with them.”

“Is that supposed to be an insult?”

“The stubbornness is all his own,” Thorin interjected. “It’s the suspicion that rubbed off.”

Aragorn raised a brow at the hobbit.

Bilbo shrugged. “I guess when enough things try to kill you, you learn to stop being so trusting.”

“No one here is going to harm you.”

“Doesn’t mean you can keep us from all harm, does it? I’m not saying I don’t trust you. I’ve just learned not to take survival for granted. So forgive me if I can’t place my safety solely in your hands.” Bilbo stood stiffly and brushed himself off. “I prefer his hands anyway.” He pointed at his dwarf.

Thorin snorted in amusement, and Aragorn smirked, thawing from the previous tension. “It’s seems you’ve become quite ‘adventure wise’ from you journey to the lonely mountain.”

“Yes, well, terrible damsels in distress dwarrow are. The whole lot of them. Can’t keep out of trouble if they’re lives depended on it.”

“Oy!” Thorin and Gimli protested in unison. 

“Oh, don’t take it personally.” Bilbo flicked a hand at them dismissively with a laugh. “It’s just a fact, but I love you anyway. I’m a bloody glutton for punishment.” He mumbled to himself at the end.

Aragorn barked a laugh, and Thorin pointed in accusation, “You got us into some of those troubles!”

“Only because I as with you!” Bilbo pointed back. “There are no trolls in the Shire, are there? No big dangerous situations to get caught in there!”

“Maybe that’s the real reason hobbit’s never leave the Shire! Because it’s the only place safe enough the negate their uncanny ability to find trouble wherever they go!

“Are you serious? Who got captured by spiders and rescued only to be immediately re-captured by elves?” 

The other fellowship members bustled around, smiling and snickering as the new additions continued to bicker superficially, all the while working in perfect unison as they did their part to make ready to leave. Despite the quarreling, anyone could see how inseparable they were as they subconsciously functioned as a single unit.

The group continued on with much improved moods that morning, and they continued their way up the mountain. Unfortunately, morale sank lower as they climbed higher. Not just because the dropping temperatures and arrival of snow, making the way even more difficult and treacherous, but also because Bilbo became weaker the farther they went. The cold and difficult terrain did nothing to aid his recovery. 

Thorin relinquished his coat to the hobbit full time once Bilbo’s shivering became constant. Though it helped ward off the cold, it seemed to make walking more difficult. They found a small sheltered spot early in the evening and called a halt to walking for Bilbo’s sake. 

Huddling under the jutting rock of the mountain, Thorin cuddled his hobbit close to warm him. Bilbo did his best to eat through his shaking.

“We can’t keep going this way,” Boromir argued once the hobbits had gone still and quite. “We aren’t even to the top yet where the snow will be thickest and the wind harshest. Bilbo will fall long before we reach the top at this rate. I fear the other hobbits will not be far behind him.”

“He’s right.” Aragorn shook his head. “I fear Bilbo won't be able to make it over the mountain.”

“Bilbo is stubborn and determined. He will not fall as quickly as you suppose,” Gandalf rebutted.

“But he will not make it over the mountain,” Legolas agreed with the men. “No matter his stubbornness. He is physically weakened.”

“There is another way!” Gimli piped up. 

“No!” Gandalf countered quickly. “We must take this pass. The others are too dangerous.”

“And If we lose the ring-bearers in the progress? Then it’s all for naught!” Boromir Insisted.

Aragorn rubbed a hand over his face. “We need to consider alternative routes. If only as a last resort.”

“We could go through Moria!” Gimli suggested. 

“No. It is too dangerous,” Gandalf denied. 

“Perhaps one of the lower passes?” Boromir offered. 

Legolas countered, “They’re crawling with orcs.”

“There has to be another way!” Boromir gestured roughly.

Aragorn sighed. “Bilbo was right. The cold is an equally dangerous adversary from which there is no respite.”

Gandalf scoffed. “Hobbits are much stronger and enduring than one would think. If we can get through the pass quickly, they will be fine. But we must press on.”

“Then we hope for good weather and keep going.”

“Aye.” Gimli nodded. “Pray to Mahal we don’t get a storm.”

The next morning they moved on as early as possible. Bilbo still shivered constantly. Thorin stuck close on one side and Frodo on the other as they sandwiched him for added warmth. Soon, Bilbo wasn’t the only one suffering. The other hobbits began to shiver and stumbled more often as they trudged higher up the mountain. The snow became deeper. Gandalf and Aragorn lead the way as they packed the snow for the hobbits to pass through more easily. 

They were all exhausted by the time they stopped for the night, but there was no shelter in sight. Having stripped off his plate armor, Thorin cradled his hobbit, who was too tired and cold to eat, and held him close to warm him. Frodo sat nearby, wrapped in his frozen blanket and shivering.

“Come here.” Thorin beckoned. 

Frodo shuffled closer until Thorin tugged him into his lap effortlessly. “W-What?” He blushed.

Thorin wrapped his coat around both of them. “Help me keep him warm.”

“O-oh.” Frodo waited for his own chills to abate before pulling his uncle into his arms. “What about you?”

“Dwarrow have naturally high body temperatures. I’ll be fine.” Thorin beckoned to rest of the hobbits over, and they rushed to him eagerly, each one fighting convulsive tremors. “Gimli, come here and help keep the hobbits warm.” 

The younger dwarf who seemed barely dazed by the cold wind and snow despite the icicles forming on his beard, stared wide-eyed a moment before hurriedly jumping up to do as he was told.

“Spare them a coat or blanket if you can. Hobbits are not as hardy as us.” Thorin fished out the blanket that Frodo had been using now that his two charges were no longer shivering and passed it to the remaining hobbits. “Try to shield them from the wind.” 

Gimli shrugged off his coat and sat. With the extra coat and blankets, the hobbits huddled between the dwarrow. The men caught on, and Boromir and Aragorn both joined them, each taking a remaining exposed side to shield the hobbits from the cold. Finally, the young ones were able to relax and rest. 

Gandalf smirked at the little huddle, and he and Legolas kept watch for the night. 

The following day only got worse as a massive snowstorm raged over the mountain. 

“So much for good weather!” Gimli shouted over the wind. 

“This is no natural storm! There is a voice on the wind!” Legolas pointed out. 

“We must keep going!” Gandalf urged them forward. 

The snow became so thick that they had to go in single file as the wind whipped around them. Despite his condition, Bilbo, shaking and panting, plodded along behind his dwarf. Frodo followed his uncle closely, taking responsibility to help him stay on his feet despite the frigid storm sapping his own strength. Aragorn and Boromir watched over the hobbits constantly, yanking them upright whenever they stumbled or tripped over their own tired feet. 

“This is crazy!” Thorin bellowed. “They can’t handle this!” He gestured back to the hobbits, frustrated by his own inability to help his One because of the narrow path.

“We must keep going!” Gandalf insisted. 

“We’re barely making any progress!”

“This will be the death of the hobbits!” Boromir snatched Pippin off the ground once again.

“We have to go this way!” Gandalf insisted, though doubt was seeping into his own voice. 

“Orcs would be better at this point!” Thorin argued. 

“Bilbo!” Frodo shouted suddenly, and the others looked to the ring-bearers just as Frodo grabbed his toppling uncle. Unable to stop Bilbo’s descent, he disappeared over the snow covered slope with his uncle.

“Bilbo!” “Frodo!” Thorin and the other hobbits screamed after them. Plowing through the snow, Thorin threw himself down after them. Aragorn followed while the others watched over the remaining hobbits. 

“Bilbo!” Thorin called as he reached the end of the trail and desperately began digging around in the loose snow. A small hand popped up, and Thorin lunged for it, yanking Frodo from his would be tomb. “Where’s Bilbo?” 

“I-I d-d-don’t kn-know.” Frodo shook terribly. “W-w-we s-s-seperat-t-ted i-i-in the f-fall.”

“Where’s Bilbo?” Aragorn repeated as he arrived, having taken a slightly safer route.

“He must be buried. Take Frodo.” Thorin handed the hobbit over. “Get him up there and get him warm!” He waved them away as he resumed digging. 

"Frodo, do you still have the ring?" Aragorn asked as he scooped up the hobbit.

"I-I . . . ." Frodo began desperately searching his clothes. "No!"

We must find it!"

"Bilbo is more important than a stupid ring!" Thorin bellowed.

"We cannot loose it!"

"Wait!" Frodo held up the chain. "Y-y-yes! I h-have it!"

"Get him out of here!" Thorin barked, turning back to the loose snow surrounding him.

“I’ll send help.” Aragorn starting his climb up the hill with Frodo tucked in his arms. 

“Bilbo!” Thorin ignored him. “Come on! Answer me! You’re too stubborn to end like this!” He searched about desperately.

“Have you found him?” Legolas skated down the slope shortly after Aragorn had left. 

“No!”

The elf hopped over the churned snow lightly. “Here!” 

Thorin immediately shoveling into the indicated spot. When his fingers finally brushed against something soft, he dove into the powdery ice. After a moment of digging about, he resurfaced with his hobbit in hand. “Thank Mahal.”

Bilbo’s head flopped limply, and his lips and fingers were already sporting a light shade of blue. Thorin’s coat remained buried. 

“Take him!” Thorin tossed him to the elf, whose fast reflexes were the only reason the poor hobbit didn’t plop back into the snow. “Get him up there!” He ordered and dived back in for his coat. Shaking it out, he climbed back up the mountain, resisting the howling wind that sought to beat him down. 

Gimli waited near the top to pull him up. 

“Where is he?” Thorin demanded before he’d even caught his breath. 

The men were standing watch over the hobbits as they tried to rub warmth into Frodo’s and Bilbo’s limbs. Legolas knelt, propping the oldest hobbit up in his arms. 

“Put him on my back!” Thorin quickly stripped off his heavy armor, tossing it aside. 

Obeying, Legolas draped the unconscious hobbit over his back and secured Thorin’s coat after another through shake to dispel the clinging ice crystals. 

“Gimli! Carry Frodo! Guide the hobbits down! We’re getting off this mountain!” Thorin shouted to be heard over the raging storm. 

“No! We must keep going!” Gandalf tried to stop them. 

“This is madness, Tharkun! The mountain itself is against us! We must go down!”

“There is no other way!”

“I will not sacrifice my hobbit or his kin for you!” Thorin turned to the others. “Get them off the mountain!”

“What about your armor?” Gimli asked. 

“Leave it!”

“This storm is a white out!” Boromir pointed out. “We can barely see each other! How will we make it down without falling to all our deaths?”

“Legolas, can you find a safe path?” Aragorn asked, and the elf peered into the snow uncertainly. “Can you do it?”

“Yes! I will find us a path!”

“Good! Go!” Thorin ordered.

“This is not your company, Thorin Oakenshield! You are not king here!” Gandalf grabbed his shoulders. 

Thorin’s glare held enough heat to thaw any one of them. “Nor am I under your command! If you wish to die up here alone, do it! But I am taking the hobbits down!” He turned back to the others. “Go!”

With one last look to the wizard, they did as commanded. With Legolas guiding them, they carefully made their way back the way they’d come.

“Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!” Gandalf swore as they slowly disappeared amidst the raging whirlwind of falling flakes. A voice on the wind cackled with evil delight, and Gandalf muttered a curse. Still complaining under his breath, he fought through the piercing wind to catch up. 

They made faster progress going down than they had forward as they followed the path they had carved. Aragorn And Boromir grabbed the remaining hobbits. Aragorn hoisted Sam onto his back while Boromir grabbed the two youngest—one under each arm. They pushed hard through the storm, determined to find enough shelter to warm the hobbits. When the deep chill of night settled over them, they still didn’t stop. It wasn’t until nearly sunrise of the next day that they found partially covered area to take shelter in. 

The hobbits were shuffled deepest into the sheltered recess where they huddled to keep warm. With Aragorn’s help, Thorin carefully slipped off his limp hobbit. Bilbo had warmed significantly, absorbing all the excess heat that Thorin had created as they raced through the storm, but he was still unconscious.

Wrapping his hobbit in his coat, Thorin wedged as far under the cliff overhang as he could. “Bilbo.” He tried to pat his hobbit awake. The others settled where they could, helping to barricade the hobbits from the weather. 

“Tharkun!” Thorin called when his efforts to wake his burglar proved fruitless.

The wizard sighed and stooped to investigate the lifeless hobbit. Muttering a few words, he set his hand over Bilbo’s chest.

Bilbo wheezed a soft gasp, immediately devolving into coughs. 

“Ghivashel.” Thorin eased him upright as the hobbit continued to cough. 

“Wha’ hap’n’d?” Bilbo groaned, leaning into the warmth of his dwarf. 

“You need to stop scaring me like this.” Thorin held him close. 

“I can’t f-feel my toes.”

Thorin wrapped a hand around one of his feet.

“Where are we?” Bilbo glanced around, attempting to take stock of everyone. 

“We’re heading down the mountain.”

“We made it over?”

“No. It was too much. We’ll find another way.”

“Because of me?” Bilbo’s tone was resigned. 

“No. Because someone summoned a storm against us. Rest, amralime.” Thorin kissed frigid curls. 

“Where’s F-Frodo?” Bilbo's head popped up again.

“I’m h-here, U-Uncle.” 

“You look like you’re freezing.”

“You both went over the mountain,” Aragorn explained. “We lost you to the snow before Thorin dug you out.”

“What?” Bilbo’s concerned gaze turned back to his nephew. “What are you doing? Get in here!” He opened Thorin’s coat. 

Without hesitation, Frodo joined his Uncle in Thorin’s lap. 

“Come here. Come here.” Bilbo tugged him into a spoon, wrapping around him. He shuddered from the sudden cold but snuggled closer to help ward off the chills. Thorin waited patiently until they were comfortable before tucking in his coat and wrapping around them both. 

With a beckon from the dwarf king, the remaining hobbits huddled against his back, sharing the blankets and Gimli’s coat as they tried to soak up any extra heat he had to offer.

The storm continued to rage, and Thorin stared out into the swirling snow. “We should eat and rest. There’s no point in continuing as long as the storm continues.”

“It will bury us under here,” Boromir commented, too tired to argue.

“All the better for us. It will block the wind. We will wait it out unless the wizard has a better idea.” Thorin glared. 

“No. And even if I did, it seems it would be ignored at this point.”

“Seems appropriate, considering you ignore the safety of those you call friends.”

“This was the safest path over the mountains.” 

“Maybe at first but not anymore. Now it’s a death sentence.” Thorin squeezed his hobbits. 

“We could have made it.”

“And you call dwarrow stubborn.” Thorin raised a challenging brow. 

“I am trying to help!”

“You’re doing a miserable job, as usual!”

“That’s enough!” Aragorn intervened as he pulled some cram from his pack. “What’s done is done. We will find another way.” He began passing out portions as the dwarf king and wizard continued exchanging glares.

The hobbits were each allowed more than usual to make up for the previous day. Bilbo still didn’t manage much, but he continued to nibble as long as he was awake. Gimli sat near the hobbits, offering his own warmth, and the men settled nearby as well. The hobbits quickly fell asleep once they were no longer shivering. Frodo and Bilbo both relaxed in the dwarf king’s arms. They were the first to drift off, with Frodo’s head resting on Thorin’s arm, and Bilbo’s bronze curls resting on the nape of his black haired nephew. Their contrasting colors blending in one mess of ringlets. 

Thorin dozed as he sat shielding his hobbits from the cold, and all but the wizard and elf joined him in light slumber. 

They stayed hidden in the small shelter of the overhang, eating and resting, until the next morning. Finally, the blizzard seemed to have passed, but they were entirely buried by the layers of snow it had deposited around them. 

When they woke to the glow of the sun through the snow walls surrounding them, it was almost warm compared to the piercing chill of the past few days.

Bilbo and Frodo shifted in Thorin’s arms as they slowly came to. The other hobbits revived more quickly, stretching as they returned to awareness. 

“I’m starving,” Pippin announced as he sat up.

“Me too.” Merry joined him. “Feel like I’ve missed a day and a half of meals.”

“Probably more than that.” Sam rolled to his knees before crawling over to check on Frodo. 

“I could really go for some bacon.” Pippin smacked his lips hungrily only to be smacked over the head by Merry. 

“We don’t have any wood for a fire.” 

“Oh yeah.”

“I’m all right, Sam.” Frodo pried out of his uncle’s grip to climb out and stretch. 

“Better than all right.” Sam helped him out. “You’re downright toasty. Got yourself a dwarven oven, right there.”

“Actually, he’s my uncle’s. But Bilbo was kind enough to share.” Frodo grinned at his . . . uncles? It certainly felt that way.

Bilbo smirked and Thorin snorted, burying his nose in bronze curls and squeezing his hobbit snugly. Neither refuted the statement.

“Eat.” Aragorn passed more rations around. “We need to leave soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Making their way back down the mountain, things gradually improve for the fellowship+. Aragorn, Boromir, Legolas, and Gimli have a very serious discussion on what one would call a pile of hobbits.


	7. Hobbit Piles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a poll up [here](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com/post/633760662354558976/5th-monday-bonus-poll) for November's 5th Monday bonus updates. Be sure to get your votes in. 😁
> 
> Enjoy! 🥰

“So,” Pippin chewed on a near frozen piece of cram, “how are we suppose to get out of here?" He took another hard bite. 

“We'll have to carve our way through the snow, little one,” Boromir answered. 

“It will be simple enough. The snow should get thinner as we descend,” Thorin added.

“I kind of like it in here.” Sam had taken it upon himself to see to it that the Baggins’ had plenty to eat and offered Bilbo another wafer. “It’s cozy compared to out there. We could rest a little while longer.”

“We've stopped long enough,” Gandalf insisted. “We must keep going. We still have to find another way over the mountains. We’re practically starting all over thanks to a certain dwarf king.”

Thorin said something in Khuzdul that made Gimli choke on his chilled jerky. Gandalf merely shook his head. Thorin continued in Westron. “ _Your_ way would have ended in the death of the hobbits. Better to start over with the whole company than with half of it.”

“They would have been fine.”

Thorin muttered something in Khuzdul again, and Bilbo snickered.

“Do you know dwarfish, Bilbo?” Frodo wondered innocently. 

“It’s Khuzdul!” Gimli barked defensively. “And no outsider is permitted to learn it!” He shifted nervously, when Thorin raised a challenging brow. “Unless the king himself permits it, of course.”

“When we return to our own time, we will be wed, and Bilbo will be my consort. He has every right to learn our native tongue,” Thorin asserted. 

Bilbo choked this time, and Frodo patted his back. “Consort?” Bilbo spluttered. “Married? Are you going to even ask me first?”

“Of course, Ghivashel. I will propose in a way most fitting for a King’s Consort Under the Mountain.”

Bilbo gaped, and his face drained of its color.

“Do you not wish to be married? I just assumed—“

“What? No! Of course, I’ll marry you, you silly dwarf! We just hadn’t talked about it. But-But Consort?” Bilbo chuckled nervously. “That seems a bit . . . glamorous for a mere hobbit, doesn’t it? And what of your people? What will they think about a hobbit consort?”

“If they don’t like it, they’re not welcome in my mountain. And there is nothing too glamorous for you, Amralime. I’ve already covered you in mythril. Anything else is pretty much a step down from there.” Thorin smirked. 

Bilbo’s gawking face slowly went from pale to beet red. He cleared his throat and licked his dry lips. “The others . . . knew what you were doing, didn’t they? When you gave me the chainmail?”

“Of course. As we’ve established, you were the only one who wasn’t aware of its meaning.”

Bilbo pressed a hand over his mouth, still burning a bright red. “You had me put it on, right in front of them. They were all there.” His mortification only seemed to be growing. 

“I . . . may have been influenced by the greed of the gold sickness.” Thorin dipped his head. “But I did not force it on you.”

“No, you just made sure every one of them knew I was yours, didn’t you? You might have well had 'Property of Thorin Oakenshield’ embroidered to the back of my coat in huge letters!" Bilbo pointed. “And none of them said a word!” 

“I’m their king. They clearly accepted my choice.” 

“But consort?” Bilbo’s voice rose, and he started breathing harder. 

“I think you’ll make a wonderful consort.” Thorin studied his hyperventilating hobbit. “Bilbo?”

“I, uh . . . Nope.” Bilbo fainted, falling flat on his back. 

“Uncle?” Frodo and Thorin both rushed to check on him. Merry and Pippin gasped and giggled. 

“He’ll be fine,” Gandalf drawled, shaking his head. “Hobbits. Will sass a dragon to his face and faint at the thought of being consort.”

“I’ve never seen uncle faint before.” Frodo moved so Thorin could prop up the passed out hobbit. 

“I have. Though last time it was when he found out all the different ways he could die by dragon.” Thorin tapped his burglar’s cheek. 

Bilbo jerked to life with a gasp. “Fine! But if I must be a consort under a mountain, I insist on having a garden! I will not be smothered by stone and overbearing dwarrow!”

Boromir laughed. “Not even married yet and already laying down the law.”

“You will have your garden, Ghivashel.” Thorin smiled as his hobbit recovered. 

“All right. Good. Then . . . I suppose I can try my hand at this . . . consort business.”

Thorin chuckled. “You will make an excellent consort, amral.”

“Uh, let’s talk about something else, shall we? It’s not like this will be happening anytime soon, and I don’t need to be stressing about it right now.”

“Then let’s be off.” Aragorn took the opportunity to get them moving. “We need to start carving our way down the mountain. I will lead the way. Boromir will follow to secure the path before the hobbits take it.”

“Carve? Ye just need to plow through it!” Gimli shuffled closer to the edge of the snow wall hemming them in. “Hack it up like an enemy!” He readied his ax.

“Gimli!” Aragorn tried to stop him, but the dwarf charged into the wall of snow swinging his ax and leaving a loose tunnel in his wake. 

“I like his way better.” Thorin crouched until he could stand futher out. Aragorn glared, but Thorin ignored it. “Come, Bilbo. I will carry you.”

“I can walk, Thorin.” Bilbo joined him, still donned in the oversized coat. 

“You passed out last time.”

“Technically, I fell asleep. Considering I don’t remember very much of the climb, I was probably sleepwalking just fine for quite a while before I fell or whatever happened.”

“All the more reason why I should carry you.” Thorin crossed his arms.

Bilbo set his fists on his hips. “I’m feeling much better. I am walking.” They engaged in a defiant stare down. 

“We need to get moving before we lose Gimli fighting imaginary snow enemies,” Aragorn interrupted. “I’ll go next and start clearing the way.” He stepped into the white tunnel, packing the snow down and to the sides as he went. Legolas went next, further solidifying the path. 

“Fine,” Thorin conceded. “But I will be going after you.”

“Fine.”

“Save me from the stubbornness of hobbits and dwarves,” Gandalf muttered as he followed after the elf. 

“Lead the hobbits.” Thorin gestured to Boromir. “I’ll bring up the rear.”

The man nodded and beckoned the hobbits to follow. Pippin and Merry hurried after him. Sam waited for Frodo who wouldn’t budge without his uncle. So the three of them followed in a tight line with Thorin staying close behind his future consort. 

Despite the extra work of creating a path, the deep snow made the travel more pleasant. It shielded them from the wind and made it easy to follow the exact steps of those at the head of the line.

Save for Gandalf who was still disgruntled, the fellowship enjoyed a higher morale as they slowly left the freezing white slopes behind. They made good time and by that evening, they had descended enough that the snow had greatly receded, and they were able to find a sheltered area that didn’t force the big folk to crouch just to access it. 

The hobbits huddled together under the dwarrow’s coats as the others scrounged through the shallow snow for enough twigs and branches to make a fire. Bilbo sat in the middle with Frodo and Sam pressed against one side and Merry and Pippin against the other. The five of them cuddled for warmth as the sun went down, and the temperature dropped. 

Finally, the men were able to start a small fire and heated some water and food rations. The hobbits greedily accepted to hot water, dipping their cram and jerky into it.

“We should be out of the snow tomorrow, but we still need to figure out which way we’re going next.” Legolas broke the silence around the fire. 

“We could go through Moria,” Gimli suggested. “It will take us under the mountain.”

“Moria?” Thorin echoed in disbelief. “It is a cesspit of Orcs. Not even with a dwarven army could we so much as enter its gates.”

“Aye. Seventy years ago. But my cousin Balin retook the mines after Erebor was reestablished.”

“And he succeeded?”

“Aye! 'Tis a great feat!”

“Then he could grant us safe passage. Why did you not take such a path before?” Thorin gestured at the wizard. 

“I would not guide this fellowship into the depths of Moria for any reason,” Gandalf replied. “No one has heard from Balin or his colony for some time and dangerous things lurk in the darkness there.”

Thorin thought for a moment. “But there are numerous paths—secret passages. Perhaps we could pass through unnoticed.”

“And how would we find one? Even the dwarves have forgotten the location of their many doors.” Aragorn pointed out. 

“I find it hard to believe that the wizard has forgotten them.” Thorin narrowed his eyes at said wizard. 

The others looked to him as well. “I will not take us through Moria!”

“It’s the only way!” Gimli insisted. 

“It would hide us from watchful eyes,” Boromir speculated. 

“It is not safe!” Gandalf argued. 

“Oh, for the love of—“ Bilbo burst from his cocoon of hobbits. “We can’t go _over_ the mountain. We can’t go _around_ it. So, unless one of you is going to sprout wings and carry us on the wind, we’re taking the bloody path under the mountain!” He gestured around the camp. “Why are you all sitting here arguing which way we should take when there’s literally only one way left to us?”

“Silence! You do not know of what you speak, Bilbo Baggins! Tend to your hobbits and let us deal with such issues!”

Bilbo gaped. “Excuse me?”

“Here we go again,” Boromir muttered. 

“You know nothing of Moria.” Gandalf pointed at the flabbergasted hobbit. 

“Oh, right, because I’ve never been lost in a _bloody mountain_ and left to fend off hobbit eating _monsters_ in the dark and find my own _bloody way out_! If there is anyone here qualified to make a judgement on passing through a mountain--a goblin infested mountain—it is dwarrow and _this_ hobbit!” He pointed to himself. “Believe me, I am not a fan of goblin tunnels, but at least a bloody cave lends itself to better hiding. Unlike standing on a bloody mountain peak! We are going under the mountain!”

“I agree.” “Aye!” Thorin and Gimli were quick to take his side. “What say the rest of you?” Thorin prompted.

“We’ve heard from one ring bearer. What does the other say?” Aragorn looked to Frodo.

Gandalf scoffed, and Bilbo glared at him. 

“What say you, Frodo?” Aragorn encouraged. 

Frodo glanced around, surprised by the sudden question. “I think Uncle is right. There’s no other way.” 

Aragorn nodded. “If the ringbearers have chosen it, I will see them through it.”

“I as well,” Boromir added. Legolas merely nodded. 

“It seems you are out-voted, Tharkun. Tomorrow, you will begin guiding us to a door.” Thorin guided his hobbit back to the warmth of the others. 

Gandalf grumbled under his breath as he puffed on his pipe, but didn’t refuse. 

After they had eaten, Thorin took Gimli’s coat and lay it on a piece of flat rock. It was well sheltered and dry—better than sleeping on soggy snow. “Come.” He disrupted the hobbit huddle by pulling a dozing Bilbo from their midst. “You need to rest.”

Guiding his half-asleep hobbit to the coat, he lay down in the center and tugged his hobbit close. Frodo quickly snuggled behind his uncle and beckoned Sam to join him. 

“Pippin! This side’s open!” Merry dashed to claim the spot at Thorin’s back. He and Pippin wrestled for the inside spot, making Thorin grunt whenever a knee or elbow caught him in the back. 

“Knock it off!” Sam scolded, and they reluctantly settled in a tangle of limbs.

Thorin sighed once they were all settled and pulled his coat over the whole group. The hobbits quickly tucked it in around, squeezing together even tighter to make sure it covered them all. Thorin endured stoically as they pressed in for his heat. 

The men chuckled quietly at his plight and settled down themselves. It was quite a sight that greeted them the next morning. 

“A pig pile?” Legolas asked as they stood over the strange little conglomerate. “Is that what men call it? Or is it a dog pile?”

“It’s more of a hobbit pile, really,” Boromir hummed. “A hobbit mound?”

“A rabbit mound?” 

The men stared at the elf.

“Or a bunny pile,” Gilmi suggested. 

Aragorn raised a brow at the dwarf.

“Look at them. I feel for the dwarf buried beneath them.” Boromir waved at the mass.

Legolas snapped his fingers. “A kit stack! . . . Because baby bunnies are called kits, and they’re small.” He answered their blank looks. 

“You do know they aren’t actually bunnies, right?” Boromir eyed the elf.

“They might not like being called baby bunnies,” Aragorn cautioned. 

“Have ye seen their feet?” Gimli pointed, though no such appendages were visible. “Just like a rabbit’s.” 

“Their hair _is_ kind of fluffy.” Boromir shrugged.

“Their ears are a bit long, too!” Gimli added. 

“I got it!” Legolas smacked his fist in his hand. “It’s a short stack!”

Boromir fought back a burst of laughter. “A short stack?” 

“They would surely find that offensive.” Aragorn was fighting a smile himself. 

“Seems appropriate.” Gimli nodded. 

“We should wake them up.”

“Where do we start?” Boromir sounded overwhelmed. “I can’t tell where one ends and the next begins. I can barely tell them apart.”

“Well, that one is clearly Frodo.” Aragorn pointed to the darkest head of curls. “He’s the only one with black hair.”

“The one next to him is Sam, obviously,” Legolas asserted. “Because he’s next to Frodo.”

“It _is_ Sam because he has the lightest hair of the group,” Aragorn confirmed. 

“So that one has to be Pippin because his hair is darker then Merry’s.” Boromir pointed to the top most hobbit lying draped over the dwarf. 

“No, Merry's hair is darker.” 

“Aren’t they about the same?” Legolas studied the two heads of curls.

“No,” Both men replied. Boromir continued. “I’m telling you, Pippin’s hair is darker. That means Merry is the one buried under him.”

“But Merry and Bilbo’s hair is about the same, so you can’t be sure,” Aragorn argued.

“Nay! The burglar’s hair is the color of polished bronze with golden spun highlights,” Gimli insisted. 

The others looked at him. “You seem quite confident about this.” Aragorn smirked. 

The dwarf’s mouth flapped soundlessly. “H-he’s a living legend! It . . . behooves one to commit to memory the visage of such!”

“Best not let your king find out,” Boromir teased, and Gimli spluttered. 

“So, which one _is_ Bilbo?” Aragorn redirected. 

“Well, obviously it’s . . . Wait, I don’t see him.” Gimli shuffled around the little mound to get a better look. 

“What?”

“There’s only four hobbits here!”

“We lost a hobbit?” Boromir started counting as well. “He has to be here! How could we have lost him?”

“What’s all that racket?” The mound began to shift. “Pippin, get off!” One of the bodies near the bottom squirmed. 

“I ain’t on ya.” The top most patch of curls mumbled. “So warm.”

Pippin rose as Thorin sucked in a deep breath and sighed. 

“Uh, how long have you been awake?” Gimli wondered. 

“Since the rest of you woke up.” Thorin rumbled from the center of the pile.

“Oh.”

“Oi! Get off!” Sam came to life as Pippin began to slip off onto Frodo.

“What is it, Sam?” Frodo popped up, barely awake. 

“Nothin’, Mr. Frodo.” Sam shoved the younger hobbit in the other direction. 

“Oof! Pippin!” Merry complained when his younger cousin landed on him instead. 

“It’s not my fault!”

“Thorin, Bilbo is missing.” Aragorn knelt by the dwarf’s head as Boromir helped untangle the younger hobbits. 

“He’s not.”

“He’s is. We can’t find him.” 

“Up we go, Mr. Frodo.” Sam pulled the younger Baggins into sitting. 

“He’s not,” Thorin repeated and rolled to his side now that he had room to move. A final head of curls that had been hidden beneath the dwarf became visible. Bilbo squirmed and snuggled closer to the retreating dwarf.

“I have no idea how you do it,” Aragorn chuckled. 

“I don’t sleep much.”

Aragorn snorted and clapped his shoulder before getting up to serve the hobbits breakfast. 

Thorin, now freed from the short stack, rolled to his back and stretched his stiff muscles. Stubbornly sticking to his dwarf, Bilbo followed. 

“I knew hobbits were social creatures, but I didn’t realize how cuddly you all were.” Thorin held Bilbo close for a few more moments before getting up.

“Oy aye! Skinship is very important for hobbits.” Merry nodded. 

“Very important,” Pippin echoed.

“What is?” Boromir asked. 

“Skinship!”

“Yeah. You know, touching, hugging, cuddles, those kind of things,” Merry added. 

The men looked to Frodo as Bilbo was still out of it. 

“Hobbits need physical touch and affection to thrive. It’s not something often talked about since few suffer from a lack of it in the Shire, but it’s a more serious concern for hobbits who travel beyond the borders.”

Thorin looked concerned as he propped his hobbit next to him. “What happens if they don’t get enough?” 

“There’s a lot of symptoms, but it causes an overall decline in health. Weightloss, sickness, depression, and recklessness are some of the most prominent symptoms, but it can be just about anything really. Everyone suffers differently.”

Thorin turned to his hobbit in alarm. 

“I’m fine,” Bilbo insisted sleepily. “The dungeons were tough though.” He leaned against his dwarf. 

“Why didn’t you tell us what you needed?”

“Oh please. The lot of you didn’t care at first. By the time you did, it was a little late to be bringing it up. Besides, Gandalf knew what he was doing.”

The dwarf king turned wide eyes on the wizard. “You knew you were potentially harming him taking him out of the Shire?”

“I knew he could handle it, though I _hoped_ your company would supply him the skinship he needed. Dwarves are normally very tactile. It was your dismissive attitude that prevented him from being fully integrated from the beginning.” Gandalf passed the blame.

“I am sorry, Ghivashel. If I had known—“

“I’m fine, Thorin.” Bilbo waved the concern away.

“Is that why you permitted multiple hobbits for this quest?” Legolas wondered at the wizard.

Bilbo glared as they waited for an answer.

Gandalf answered carefully “It was a consideration.”

“Bloody daft wizard,” Bilbo grumbled as he ate, shaking his head in disapproval. “Just one other would have sufficed.”

“Let’s not start this again,” Aragorn intervened. “We need to get moving.”

Bilbo continued to mutter under his breath but obeyed as they picked up their camp and prepared to move on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: Bilbo gets his hand treated. It's not pretty. Thorin and Bilbo reflect on the similarities between certain hobbits and dwarves.


	8. Healing Hands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy your fifth Monday bonus chapters!🥰
> 
> I've also posted a new Sneak Peek: [A Glimmer of Hope](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13921119/chapters/62713531). Summary below. 
> 
> It's been almost an age since the last Great War against darkness. A terrible time remembered not just for the defeat of Sauron, but for the fall of the last avatar, a soul gifted to the people of middle-earth by the Valar with the ability to combine and wield all the powers of the gods. Darkness is spreading and a new threat is emerging. But the free peoples of middle-earth are fractured after the loss of the avatar line, each race blaming another.
> 
> Thorin Oakenshield attends a council of kingdoms to discuss the rising threat, but little is accomplished despite rumors of a new avatar having been born. Frustrated and desperate to reclaim his people's mountain, he accepts the task of finding the young avatar. Sent to the land of hobbits, he sets out on the most important quest of the age--a mission to train the avatar and restore peace to the world.
> 
> atla!AU; Benders; Bilbo/Thorin

The fellowship made good time, quickly moving beyond the lingering snow from the blizzard. Going down the mountain was considerably easier then climbing up. Sometimes a little too easy, and the line shuffled closer to accommodate. Bilbo walked at the front of the hobbits with Thorin directly before him. Boromir and Gimli defended the rear. 

Bilbo stumbled for the third time that day and collided with the solid wall of dwarf that walked ahead. “Ow.” he grunted as he found his feet. 

“Are you all right, uncle?” Frodo hurried to check on him. 

“I’m tired,” Bilbo sighed, making no effort to peel off his dwarf. 

“Come and sit for awhile.” Thorin pulled his hobbit around and guided him to a rock. “Eat something.” He offered a piece of cram. 

Bilbo took a tiny bite and slowly chewed. “Keep going. I’ll catch up.” He tried to wave the others on. 

“We will not leave a ringbearer unguarded,” Aragorn refused. “We’re making good time. We can afford to rest a while. I should check your wounds.”

The other hobbits sat nearby and watched as Aragorn unwrapped Bilbo’s burned and broken hand. The man grimaced at the sight. “We need more medicine for this.” Bilbo’s palm and fingers were a angry red where large blisters had formed from the severe burn. The blisters having popped, flaps of skin matted with puss. Sam started gagging at the sight and had to turn away. Frodo wanted to be supportive but couldn’t stand to look at it either. “This has to hurt.” Aragorn shook his head. 

“Bilbo, why didn’t you say anything?” Thorin asked in alarm. 

“We’ve kinda been busy.” Bilbo said through gritted teeth as Aragorn began to remove the splint around his broken fingers. The bandages and sticks peeling away painfully. “Gah! That hurts!” He squeezed his wrist as if trying to cut off the pain 

“I need to wash this.” Aragorn pulled off a loose flap of skin. 

Bilbo panted. “Please don’t.”

“I’ll look for some healing herbs,” Legolas offered and skipped away. 

“You may need to hold him,” Aragorn directed at the dwarf king. “If we don’t deal with this now, we’ll have a severe infection on our hands. He could lose his hand.”

Thorin nodded, looking alarmed but determined. 

“No, no, no, no.” Bilbo tried to pull his hand away. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine.”

“It’s not fine. We don’t have medicine with us to deal with fevers.” Aragorn prepped what medical supplies they had. "And no tools for an amputation."

Bilbo rocked back and forth. “This is going to hurt so bad.”

“Sit on the ground and put him on your lap.” Aragorn gestured to the dwarf. “I need you to hold him still. Unfortunately, we don’t have anything for the pain.”

Doing as directed, Thorin pulled Bilbo into his lap. The hobbit was already stiff and defiant from the pain. 

“Gimli, come hold his arm. Thorin, try to keep him quiet.” Aragorn readied a dagger as the dwarrow secured the hobbit. Bilbo already shook terribly in Thorin’s arms, and dwarf king held him tightly, offering what comfort he could. 

Aragorn poured a little water over Bilbo's damaged hand, loosing up the dead skin. Bilbo hissed But didn’t resist. The blade was another story. Bilbo tried not to scream when Aragorn began to gently scrape off the dead skin. He didn’t fight like they expected, instead burying his face in Thorin’s chest. But the pain was too much when Aragorn moved on to his fingers, and Thorin’s form muffled his shrieks of agony. 

Frodo paced restlessly as his uncle screamed with ever fresh scrape. “Are you sure this is necessary? How is this going to help?”

“The dead flesh will rot and infect the raw skin. He will heal faster this way,” Aragorn explained, unnaturally calm for one who was causing such pain. 

“You’re making him bleed. Those are his broken fingers! Stop!” Frodo couldn’t take it anymore and lunged to separate the ranger from his uncle.

Boromir grabbed him before he could interfere. “That’s enough. If you want him to heal, he needs to do this.”

“You’re hurting him!” Frodo struggled.

“Get your hands off him!” Sam ran to the rescue, and Boromir surrender the hobbit to his Gardner. 

“Bilbo is a strong hobbit. He’ll make it through this,” Aragorn assured. 

“I-I can’t listen to this!” Frodo resisted Sam’s hold. “Please, just stop!” He pressed his hands over his ears. 

“Hey! It’s all right. He’s gonna be all right.” Sam pulled him into his arms. Frodo clung to him, sobbing into his shoulder as Bilbo continued to scream.

“There,” Aragorn sighed. “Now we just need to clean it, replace the splint, and wrap it with some healing herbs. How is he?”

“He passed out,” Thorin answered, shifting his motionless hobbit into a more comfortable position. 

“Probably just as well.” Aragorn washed the small hand carefully. 

Legolas returned with a handful of leaves. “I grabbed what I could find.” He peered over Aragorn’s shoulder. “I’ll grind these up.”

Soon the new splint was in place and Aragorn smeared the crushed leaves over Bilbo’s hand, murmuring in elvish as he wrapped it in fresh bandages.

“Is he gonna be all right?” Merry asked timidly. Both the young hobbits looked terrified by the whole thing.

“He’ll be fine. It should heal much faster now. He took it like a warrior.” Aragorn ruffled the unconscious hobbit’s curls and put the supplies away. “At least his head injury seems much improved. I was honestly more concerned that was going to be the problem.”

Frodo climbed into Thorin’s lap and pulled Bilbo against him, cuddling the ailing hobbit. “He gets disoriented sometimes. Looses his balance.”

Aragorn nodded. “Minor side effects can last for some time, but I haven’t noticed anything serious. They should wear off in time.” 

Gandalf cleared his throat. “If all is well, we should keep moving.”

“Do you care about anyone, Tharkun?” Thorin growled. 

“Of course! I have the highest respect and fondness for this hobbit.” Gandalf stepped closer and ran a hand through Bilbo’s curls, muttering a spell. 

Bilbo’s body relaxed further against this nephew and dwarf. 

“What’d you do?” Frodo asked. 

“Just a little healing boost and a bit of pain relief.”

“You couldn’t do that five minutes ago when he was screaming in pain?” Thorin snapped. 

“It’s not as effective against pain being actively inflicted. But it will dull the lingering aches.”

“He needs to rest,” Frodo insisted. “We should wait until he wakes up.”

“We don’t have the time, little one,” Boromir said. “He'll have to be carried.” 

“I'll carry him.” Thorin helped Frodo off his lap. “If someone will put him on my back.”

“Aye.” Gilmi gestured for the hobbit. Thorin relinquished him just long enough for his future consort to be draped over his back. With Thorin’s coat secured over his hobbit, they pushed on.

Frodo kept a close eye on his uncle as they continued and noticed immediately with the other hobbit started showing signs of waking. “Uncle?” 

Bilbo shifted and turned his head, resting it on Thorin’s shoulder. “What happened? I feel weird.”

“Gandalf used some kind of pain relief spell. How do you feel?”

“I don’t. Everything’s numb. I can’t feel my legs.”

Thorin grumbled under his breath. 

“Maybe that’s a good thing?” Frodo tried to stay optimistic. “You were in a lot of pain.”

“I remember.” Bilbo paused. “Please tell me he didn’t cut it off.”

“Cut what off? Your hand?”

“I can’t feel it.”

“No! No, it’s still there, I promise.”

“Oh, good. That would have been inconvenient.”

Frodo giggled almost nervously. “I’d say. Uh, are you hungry?”

“Famished.”

Frodo dug out a piece of cram from his pocket and held it up. 

Bilbo stared at it. “I don’t think my arms are working.” 

“Oh, sorry.” Frodo tugged on Thorin who stopped and leaned over so he could reach his uncle. 

“Thanks.” Bilbo let Frodo push a piece of the hard bread into his mouth. “This is pretty inconvenient, too. I hope it wears off.” 

“I’m sure that it will?” Frodo wasn’t at all confident.

It did. Bilbo gradually regained his feeling and movement through the rest of the day. By the time they stopped for the night, he was able to walk around again—if a bit clumsily. He walked cautiously around the camp, stretching his limbs and trying to regain proper muscle control as the others rested. 

They made a proper fire that night, and Sam happily took over making dinner. Merry and Pippin whispered to each other, likely up to no good. Frodo sat, but watched his uncle as he wandered. 

“How’s your hand feeling?” Aragorn asked as Bilbo walked by. 

“Not sure. Can’t really feel it yet,” Bilbo hummed. 

“It should heal faster now.”

“Mhm. Keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better. Doesn’t do much for me. So, how far from one of these Moria gates are we?”

“At least several days yet.” Gandalf puffed a plume of smoke. “Most doors are set near the base of the mountain.”

“Great.” BIlbo nodded unenthused.

“But the way should be easier—provided we don’t run into any nasty surprises,” Legolas added. 

“There’s always plenty of those to go around, isn’t there.”

“No one will be expecting us to go under the mountain. The way should be clear,” Gimli asserted. 

“Bilbo, come eat.” Thorin called him over, and the hobbit finally took a seat. 

Struggling to hold the small bowl with a numb hand, Bilbo finally agreed to let Thorin help him. He drank the mushy broth eagerly and received seconds for the first time since he’d joined them.”

“Maybe you should go numb more often,” Merry teased. “It seems to boost your appetite.”

“You’re right.” Bilbo smacked his lips as he finished his second bowl. “It’s a lot easier to eat if I can’t feel my stomach bursting.” Merry’s mouth hung open. “I’m kidding.”

“Oh.” Merry laughed nervously. “Right. Who’s ever heard of a hobbit’s stomach bursting?”

“Would die first, I should think.” Pippin nodded confidently. 

Sam jumped to attention, looking concerned. “That’s not gonna happen though, right?”

Bilbo chuckled. “No. I’m fine, Sam. I think I am feeling a little better. Of course, that could just be from the absence of pain.” He shrugged. “Either way, best take advantage of it.”

“If you’re sure, you’re okay. I wouldn’t want it to be my fault if you . . . you know.”

“We should get some rest, Ghivashel.” Thorin grabbed his coat. 

“All I’ve done is rest today,” Bilbo argued. “My limbs are all tingly. Get a spot set up. I’m going to wobble around a bit more.” He stood and walked away unsteadily. 

“All right.” Thorin claimed Gimli’s coat again and sought out a flat, dry piece of ground. Laying down the coat once he found one, he took a seat to tend to his weapons while he waited for his hobbit to return. 

Frodo sat near Sam as the gardener cleaned up after dinner. Merry and Pippin giggled and schemed secretly until Boromir shooed them off to bed. They were still whispering when they came to sit next to Thorin. Subconsciously, they snuggled closer for warmth as they conspired. 

Frodo glanced back to check on them and found Thorin smirking at whatever they were whispering about. He cocked his head curiously. Though he knew what his cousins were most likely up to, he’d expected the older dwarf to be less tolerant. 

“All right. I’m making myself dizzy. Might as well hit the sack,” Bilbo announced just as Sam finished up. He gesture to the two hobbits to join him as he walked past. 

Thorin put his swords away, awaiting his hobbit’s arrival. 

“What are you doing?” Bilbo crossed his arms and scowled down at the two young hobbits cuddling against his dwarf. 

“Uh. . .” began Pippin. 

“Well . . . he’s warm,” Merry continued. 

“And you let us sleep with you last night.”

“We just thought . . . “

Bilbo raised a brow, and the hobbits shuffled away from the dwarf. “That’s my spot. You can have his other side.” He shooed them away.

“So, so we can stay?” Pippin asked hopefully.

“Yes, yes. Just don’t get in my spot.” Bilbo plopped into the vacated space.

Thorin chuckled and pulled his floppy hobbit closer while Merry and Pippin rushed to claim the dwarf’s other side. Bilbo patted the ground, inviting Frodo and Sam to join him. With all the hobbits collected, Thorin lay down, taking his collapsed hobbit with him, and pulled his coat over the squirming group. 

Bilbo went still almost instantly, melting into the warm hold of his dwarf. Frodo tried not to jostle his recovering uncle as he snuggled close and encouraged Sam to do the same. Merry and Pippin were another matter.

“Ow! Pippin!” Merry complained when the youngest hobbit tried to climb over him. 

“You’re hogging all the heat, Merry!”

“You got it all last night!” 

“Not true! I had to climb over you for it then too!”

“Ow! Get off!” Merry shoved him, undoing all his cousin’s efforts. 

“Oi! He ain’t your dwarf! Bilbo’s only letting you sleep here!”

“You too!”

“I’m the youngest.”

“And the most annoying!”

“Knock it off!” Sam interjected. “Stop squirming and go to sleep!”

Frodo giggled and snuggled closer to his sighing uncles. “Are you warm enough, Sam?”

“Oh, don’t worry about me none, Mr. Frodo. Are you warm?”

“Yes, Sam, I’m fine. Make sure you tuck the coat to keep the heat in.”

Finally, things went quiet. It wasn’t clear who won the best spot between the two younger hobbits. Considering the tangled mess they passed out as, it seemed the answer was both.

The others shook their heads at the thoroughly adopted little family that had formed around the two newest additions, but none could criticize it. It was good for the hobbits. Even Bilbo seemed to be benefiting greatly from it. 

By the next morning, the mound of bodies had once again built up. The ever victorious Pippin, lay partially on top of his cousin, clinging to Thorin’s back. Bilbo was at least visible this time, though he was sharing the same space as his hark haired nephew. Both were tucked snugly between Thorin’s and Sam’s larger forms. 

“See? A short stack.” Legolas gestured to the tightly packed group. 

The men shook their heads, though Boromir chuckled. 

“Let’s just get them up.” Aragorn set them back to their task. “Come on.” He ruffled Pippin’s hair.

“Don’t want to miss breakfast.” Boromir shook Sam’s shoulder. 

“Breakfast!” Oof!” Merry popped up just as Pippin lost his grip on Thorin’s back. “Get off!” He pushed up on his hands and knees, making the younger hobbit roll of flailing.

“Oi!”

“You’re such a pest, Pippin.” Merry sat up and stretched his back. 

“You’re both pests,” Sam grumbled as he pushed up on the dwarf’s opposite side. “You all right, Mr. Frodo?” 

“Yeah, Uncle Bilbo’s got me pinned though.”

Thorin smirked and slipped his hands in between the attached hobbits, gently lifting Bilbo and rolling to lay the hobbit on his chest.

“Thanks.” Frodo stretched, and Sam helped him up.

Bilbo stirred when Thorin stretched beneath him but only to turn over and cuddle against his dwarf. Thorin huffed fondly and held his hobbit steady so he could sit up.

Aragorn rushed them through breakfast, and soon they were walking again. 

“Are you sure?” Thorin asked again as he slipped on his coat. 

“Yeah, it’s not too cold during the day, and it’s just extra weight to carry,” Bilbo insisted. “If I need it, I’ll let you know.” He was doing much better than the day before and didn’t require a constant watch. 

“How does your hand feel?” Aragorn slipped back through the line to ask.

“It still hurts, but not as bad as it did. Kind of itchy.”

“That’s good. It means it’s healing.”

“It means it’s uncomfortable.”

Aragorn smiled and nodded. “That too.”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t blame you for what you did, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“I would do it again, even if you did.”

“Yeah,” Bilbo sounded annoyed. “I believe you.”

Laughing softly, Aragorn gently gripped the hobbit’s shoulder. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” 

“Yeah, me too. Hey.” He called as Aragorn moved toward the front of the line. “Thanks.”

“You’re very welcome, Master Hobbit.” Aragorn nodded respectfully with a grin. 

The line loosened as the trail widened and became easier to traverse. The fellowship spread out more comfortably.

Bilbo would occasionally walk with Frodo and chat about all the things that hadn’t happened in Bilbo’s time yet. When not with his adopted nephew, he stuck close to Thorin’s side.

They walked together as the path was wide enough to allow it, casually brushing against teach other as they walked. 

“It’s good to see you connecting with your kin,” Thorin rumbled, purposefully nudging his hobbit with a brush of his arm.

“Hm. I guess they're not so bad.” Bilbo paused. “Actually, they feel . . . familiar.”

“Did you know them?”

“No, none of them have been born yet in our time.”

“Then, familiar how?”

Bilbo didn’t answer right away, but stared at the ground. “He looks like you.”

Thorin’s’ brows furrowed. “What?”

Bilbo glanced back where Frodo and Sam walked behind them a short ways. Thorin followed his gaze. “He’s a hobbit.” Thorin smirked, a mixture of confusion and amusement on his face.

“He has your coloring.”

“Is black hair uncommon among hobbits?” Thorin still wasn’t convinced. 

“Maybe a little, but it’s not rare or anything.”

“Than why would you—“

“It’a not just his hair. It’s his eyes too.”

“Yes, but—“

“Because you died, Thorin!” Bilbo cut him off with hushed tones. “And I’m not naive enough to believe he didn’t remind me of you.” He stared at the ground. “I wonder if that’s the only reason I adopted him.”

“I highly doubt that,” Thorin scoffed.

“You don’t know. I don’t even know . . . what I would do if I lost you. Adopting a faunt certainly isn’t high on my list.”

“Bilbo.” Thorin wrapped an arm around his hobbit’s boulders and pulled him closer. “You are brave, compassionate, and selfless. I have no doubt you would have decided to help a faunt in need, regardless of his appearance.

Bilbo shook his head. “To be honest, I’m more surprised I did adopt him. I can’t imagine how much it would hurt to see him every day and think of you.” He wiped away the tears before they could fall. 

Squeezing him closer, Thorin rested their heads together. “Just more proof that you saw a faunt who needed someone and chose the harder path to be that person. Because you are an amazing hobbit.”

Bilbo nodded weakly and rubbed the moisture from his eyes. “It’s not just him, you know.” He sniffled. “It’s them too.” He pointed ahead. Merry and Pippin were still whispering. 

“Aye. I get that impression as well.” Thorin’s tone indicated he knew exactly what Bilbo meant. 

“They are so much like them.” Bilbo grinned. “Like hobbit versions.”

Thorin sighed. “That only means they will be troublesome on this quest.”

Bilbo giggled. “You know they’re planning something.”

“So, I’ve gathered.”

“I should, um, I should go see if they need help with that.”

Thorin turned a raised brow on his hobbit. “Help?”

“Well, yeah. Someone needs to teach ‘me how it’s done.” Bilbo smiled wickedly and slipped out of his dwarf’s grip. “So?” He clamped his arms around Merry and Pippin’s necks, peering over their shoulders. “What are we up to?”

“Nothin!” Pippin immediately denied. 

“We?” Merry asked more cautiously. 

“Yeah, ‘we.’ If you’re trying to hide your intentions, you’re doing a terrible job. Let me help.”

“You like pranks?” Pippin asked intrigued. 

Bilbo shook his head. “Tsk, tsk. Do you really not know? I was the pranking _Master_. Now, what are we planning?”

The young hobbits shared a fascinated look and grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The hobbits get up to some mischief. Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bilbo's the worst. Frodo gets talked into telling one of his uncle's stories with mixed reactions from both his uncles. A few interesting secrets are revealed as a result.


	9. Prankster Hobbits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!😁

Bilbo collapsed to the ground as the fellowship stopped for a break. It was a nice, crisp day on the mountain. Chilly, but not so frigid to make the journey miserable. Making good time on their way to a door Gandalf chose, they could afford more frequent breaks. 

Slumping against some rocks, Bilbo lazily chewed on some jerky. “Are we close yet?”

“No,” Gandalf answered. 

“Why do quests have so much walking?” Bilbo complained and lay back over a rock. 

“You're doing great. Have some water.” Thorin offered a waterskin. 

“Thanks.” Bilbo guzzled down several gulps. “I think I’m done with quests after this.” He handed it back. “They’re never as fun as they sound.”

“Carrying the ring to Mordor sounded fun?” Boromir asked incredulously.

“No. That’s my point.” Bilbo collapsed back over the rock.

“The way is easy for now. This is hardly the worst we’ll see,” Aragorn interjected. “Enjoy the peace while it lasts.”

“You’re so depressing.” 

“These are depressing times.”

“All the more reason not to be depressing,” Bilbo sighed and propped up to watch Merry and Pippin as they began sparing with their daggers.

“Ha! Take that!” Merry swiped wide with his blade, and Pippin dodged easily. 

“Too easy!” Pippin goaded. “You couldn’t hit a cornstalk in a cornfield!”

“I’ll show you!” Merry continued swinging his blade around recklessly. 

“Stop! That’s enough!” Boromir interrupted. “Your forms are terrible.”

The hobbits shared a look. “So you don’t care that we’re waving dangerous weapons around?” Pippin wondered. 

“Just that our forms are bad?” Merry added. 

“Well, obviously. If you’re going to fight, you should learn to do it right. Here, I’ll show you. Spread your feet like this. You need a secure stance.”

Exchanging curious glances, the hobbits took up positions beside him and mimicked his stance. 

“Move that foot over just a bit, Merry. Good! Excellent. Now, when you swing, you don’t want to use any more energy than necessary.” Boromir swung his sword in demonstration, and the hobbits imitated the movement. 

Bilbo watched with a knowing smirk, and the lesson continued for several minutes before it started getting out of hand. 

“Hey, Pippin. How do you suppose this one works?” Merry started to swing around a small ax.

“What? Where’d you get that?” Boromir patted himself. “That’s mine! Put it down before you hurt yourself.”

“I don’t know, Merry, but this one looks more fun.” Pippin fiddled with a horn. 

Boromir grabbed it just as the hobbit was about to blow into it. “No! That’s for emergencies only!”

“Eru! This is heavy!” Merry struggled to lift the man’s sword.

“How did you—“ Boromir checked his empty scabbard. “Put that down!”

“Not as heavy as this, Merry!” Pippin staggered under the weight of Boromir’s shield. “How do you carry all this stuff around?”

“Stop!” Boromir lunged to grab the shield before Pippin could fall and be squashed under it. “How are you doing this?”

“Jackpot!” Merry crowed waving a small sack over his head. “I told you he still had some of those Rivendell candies!” 

“Sweet!” Pippin dropped the shield, leaving Boromir to scramble for it, and bolted after his cousin. 

Boromir collected his things and turned back to the others in bafflement. “What just happened?”

“It seems you’ve been hobbit burgled,” Thorin chuckled. 

“I thought he was the burglar.” Boromir pointed to the reclining Bilbo.

The oldest hobbit shrugged. “All hobbits start out as burglars, stealing sweets off counters and pies of windowsills. Some never grow out of it. In my case, I had to rediscover my roots.” He smirked.

“You put them up to this?”

“Hardly. I only gave them some pointers.”

“I would have given them if you had just asked.” Boromir shouted at the youngster who were dividing their spoils.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Pippin shot back.

“The lesson was fun though,” Merry added. “We should do it again sometime.”

“Only if you can avoid robbing me in the process.” Boromir shook his head. 

“We’ll do our best.” Merry grinned, not looking the least bit convincing.

“Hobbits,” Gandalf huffed. “Let’s move along shall we?”

“Come on, Bilbo.” Thorin tugged his hobbit to his feet. Bilbo groaned dramatically but complied, and they continued their trek. 

That evening, they found a spot with limited tree cover to stop for the night. With a fire going and a hot dinner cooking, the fellowship settled for some much needed rest. The hobbits broke out their pipes and gathered for some social smoking. 

“Ah. That hits the spot.” Bilbo released a plume of smoke and relaxed against the rock he was propped against. 

“Bilbo. Where did you get that?” Thorin raised a brow. “Have you had a pipe on you this whole time?”

“Of course not.” Bilbo pulled another draw from the long pipe. “I don’t think I've seen mine since the goblin tunnels.” He puckered his lips and blew a smoke ring around the dwarf. 

“Then where did you get that pipe?” Thorin’s lips curled in a barely there smirk. He had a feeling he knew exactly where Bilbo had gotten it.

“Same place I got the pipeweed, my dear dwarf.” Bilbo grinned, his eyes shining with mischief, and crossed his leg over his raised knee. 

“And where was that?”

“Bilbo Baggins!” Gandalf roared on the other side of camp. “How dare you burgle a wizard?” He stomped over to the smoking group. The other hobbits turned wide eyes on their elder and scooted away just slightly. 

“Obviously, I dare quite well.” Bilbo sucked a big draw from the oversized pipe and held it a moment before loosing the smoke at the wizard.

“You will return it immediately!”

“Or what? You’ll turn me into a toad?” Bilbo was unimpressed. “Give a hobbit a break. You’ve dragged me on not one, but two consecutive adventures without even giving me a chance to recover in between. A smoke is the least you owe me.” Bilbo took another draw from the pipe.

“It was not my actions that brought you here, but yours.” Gandalf pointed with his staff. 

“And yet neither of them are my quests, are they Gandalf? I’m just the unfortunate volunteer whose life you decided to gamble.” Bilbo glared. 

The wizard huffed. “Fine. You may borrow it. But I want it returned when you're done, and you will not burgle me again.”

Bilbo smirked victoriously. “Yes, I’ll return it, but whether you’re burgled again or not, well, I guess that depends on how easy you make it, doesn’t it? After all, you’re the one who decided I was a burglar.” 

Gandalf stomped off. “Hobbits!”

“You are a brave hobbit, my friend,” Boromir praised. “I would not attempt to burgle a wizard, even in jest.”

Bilbo chuckled and resumed his leisurely smoking. “Care to join me?” He beckoned his dwarf. 

“I could very much use a smoke.” Thorin nodded, and the other hobbits made room for him next to Bilbo. He sat, and Bilbo passed the pipe to share. Wrapping one arm around his hobbit’s shoulders, Thorin took it and inhaled deeply, enjoying the flavor of Old Toby leaf on his tongue. “It’s good.” He handed the pipe back. 

“The best. He may be mostly useless, but the wizard knows good pipeweed.” 

Thorin chuckled and accepted the pipe for another long puff.

“It’s so quiet,” Pippin complained. 

“Not anymore,” Sam grumbled.

“Bilbo! Tell us a story!”

“Me?” Bilbo sat up straighter, pinning the tween with a confused look.

“Yeah, you’re a great storyteller.” Merry nodded. 

“Probably the best in the whole Shire,” Frodo agreed. 

Bilbo didn’t look convinced. “What kind of story?”

“Tell is the one about the trolls!” Pippin suggested. “That one’s my favorite!”

Merry scoffed. “That one’s everyone’s favorite, Pippin.”

“Trolls? I don’t know any stories about trolls.”

“Sure you do.” Frodo nudged his Uncle. “The ones that turned to stone on your quest, remember?”

“You want to hear about that?”

“Yes! You used to tell that story all the time!” Pippin threw his hands up excitedly. 

“It’s true. The faunts always love that one,” Frodo agreed. “I’ve heard it so many times.”

“Then why again?” Bilbo seemed reluctant.

“Because it’s a great story, and you’re a great story teller,” Merry supplied. 

“There’s not even that much to tell.”

“Are you kidding? It’s full of excitement!” Pippin countered. 

“Well, if you all know it so well, why don’t you tell _us_ the story.”

“Frodo can tell it!” Merry pointed with his pipe.

“I’m not as good as Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo shook his head, but the others were all staring at him now, including Thorin and Bilbo. “Well, I’ll give it a try. Um, let’s see. It happened after a long hard rain, and the company—that is the thirteen dwarves, a wizard, and a hobbit named Bilbo Baggins—were so wet and tired that they decided to stop at an old farm for the night.” He had their rapt attention. 

“But Thorin Oakenshield, the great dwarf king, thought that the rundown farm looked suspicious, so he ordered the wizard to look ahead for dangers since the company was too tired to go any further that night.” 

Gandalf snorted and rolled his eyes.

Frodo didn’t seem to notice and continued. “And the dwarf king was right to be wary, for that very night as they ate dinner around a warm campfire, an unwelcome visitor stumbled upon their camp. Bilbo had been appointed to tend to the ponies and returned to watch them after eating.” Bilbo made a scoffing sound. “But what did he find but that two of their precious ponies were missing!” 

Merry and pippin both stared enraptured by the story, and the other members of the fellowship had gone silent to listen as well. 

“Even as Bilbo Baggins stood there wondering what he should do, a tree fell nearby and a giant, hideous troll sauntered right by, taking another two of the ponies with him! What else could he do? He had lost the ponies! Rather than go back and report his failure, he followed after the troll, determined to prove his burgling skill and steal back the ponies.”

“But Bilbo Baggins wasn’t a burglar. He was just a hobbit. And, as he crept closer to the pen where the trolls were keeping the poor ponies, he was spotted! One of them snatched him up before he could escape, but they didn’t know what he was. In his panic, he almost admitted to being a burglar, recovering at the last moment to call himself a burahobbit. But the trolls didn’t believe him and were about to throw him into their huge stew pot.”

“Suddenly, a dwarf jumped out from the trees! It was Kili, prince and nephew to the great dwarf Thorin. He charged in bravely and demanded the trolls put down the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins! The trolls were so surprised by the aggressive demands that they tossed the poor hobbit away and went to fight the single dwarf. But then there were many dwarves as the whole company emerged from the trees and met the trolls in battle!”

“The dwarves fought fiercely under their king’s strong leadership and had nearly overwhelmed the trolls when one of them spotted Bilbo as he tried to sneak away. Grabbing him, the trolls forced the dwarves to surrender, threatening that they would rip the hobbit to pieces if they didn’t lay down their weapons. The honorable king threw down his sword, and the whole company surrendered.” 

Bilbo puffed on his pipe in rapid, short inhales as he listened intently—an indecipherable look on his face.

Frodo continued, “The trolls took all the dwarves and the hobbit and stuffed them into old, stinky sacks to await being eaten. Just when the company thought all hope was lost, the trolls started discussing how they should eat their captives.”

“Oh, oh! This is my favorite part!” Pippin bounced with excitement.

“One argued that the dwarves should be cooked properly, while another said they should just sit on them and squash them into jelly!” Pippin giggled with delight. “That’s when the great king saw an opportunity. He hopped to his feet, sack and all, and told those nasty trolls that they we’re doing it all wrong! Everyone knew dwarves had to be cooked just right to be any good.”

Pippin nudged his cousin insistently in his excitement until Merry shoved him back.

“Well, the trolls stopped to listen, and that’s when Bilbo decided he should try to help them out of this mess he'd gotten them into. He jumped up and insisted that to cook dwarves just right, you have to ‘skin them first!’” Pippin shouted along the legendary suggestion. Thorin chuckled, but Bilbo only wrinkled his nose.

“Well, now they were big trouble,” Frodo resumed. “The trolls were ready to take the advice and picked one of the dwarves out to start skinning! That’s when the great dwarf king saved the day again. He pointed to the dwarf they’d picked to start with and said—“

“Not that one! He’s full of worms!” Merry and Pippin picked up in unison. The others laughed, even Bilbo.

Frodo waited until they had settled before continuing. “Even the trolls thought wormy dwarves were too disgusting to eat and they started fight between themselves. One of them said the dwarf was lying. But it didn’t matter. They’d spent so much time arguing that sun had already started creeping up. With perfect timing, Gandalf arrived, splitting the rock that blocked the sun’s rays. Poof! The trolls turned completely to stone!”

Merry and Pippin cheered as Frodo wrapped up the story. “After many apologies, King Thorin forgave the would-be burglar hobbit and even gifted him an eleven blade from the trolls' hoard. And they continued on their quest.” He stood to take a bow as men and hobbits clapped. 

“That is the . . . biggest load of hogwash I have ever heard!” Bilbo erupted after the praises had died down. “Who even came up with that story?”

“I believe you did, Ghivashel,” Thorin chortled.

“What? No way!”

“That’s how you always told it.” Frodo shrugged. He’d already gathered that his uncle's stories weren’t entirely accurate. “Almost word for word.” The other hobbits all nodded in agreement.

“Well, then I developed some memory issues because that’s not at _all_ how it happened.”

“Some of it was accurate,” Thorin corrected. 

“Yes, all right. A few pieces and the overall concept. But, I did _not_ lose those ponies, and you know it! Where am I right now? Am I still alive? Because I need to have a serious talk with myself.”

“Oh, yeah! We just saw you,” Merry answered. “You’re back in Rivendell.”

“Rivendell? Why am I in Rivendell?”

“You retired there,” Frodo replied. “You left the Shire on you’re eleventy-first birthday. You traveled for a little while before retiring with the elves.” 

“I . . . I what?” Bilbo‘s face scrunched up in confusion. 

“You said you wanted to see mountains again.”

Bilbo’s expression smoothed with understanding. “Oh . . . Well, that doesn’t change the fact that I mutilated the story horribly!” 

“I don’t know.” Thorin stole the pipe. “I quite like this version.”

“Of course you do. It makes you look like the hero.” Bilbo snatched it back.

Thorin chuckled. “I am a dwarf King.”

“Yes, you were also a stinking sack of dwarf! Though you can have the worms idea. That wasn’t one of my best moments.”

Thorin burst out laughing. 

“Wait. The worms thing was your idea?” Pippin pointed at the older hobbit.

“Like I said, not one of my finest moments. I was still very new to all this adventure stuff then.”

“You still did well buying us time.” Thorin reigned in his mirth. “Even if it was your fault we were in the mess to begin with.” 

“It wasn’t my fault though. The only thing I did wrong was listen to your blasted nephews.” 

“What? You tried to steal back the ponies on your own.” Thorin turned quizzical.

“Yes, because your nephews didn’t want to tell you they lost the ponies. And vehemently refused to let me tell you. They insisted I try to get the ponies back so you wouldn’t find out. So much for their back-up. Didn’t even spare me a dagger to work with.” Bilbo crossed his arms with a huff.

All the dwarf king’s mirth faded away. “I blamed you for everything that happened that night.”

“Oh, I remember.” Bilbo nodded. 

“I . . . said some . . . things.”

“Mhm.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

Bilbo puffed out a plume of smoke. “The princes already felt terrible. I didn’t think they needed anymore scolding. Besides, I didn’t think you’d believe me anyway. Just accuse me of passing the blame.”

Thorin clenched his fist. “I’m sorry.”

“Oh stop it. It was just part of the grind back then. I was always doing something wrong.”

“I will speak with my nephews when we return.” Thorin took the offered pipe.

“Don’t bother.” Bilbo waved away the offer. “They apologized profusely when they realized I wasn’t going to give them up. Couldn’t get rid of them after that. Started calling me ‘uncle.’” 

Choking on smoke, Thorin started coughing. 

“Are you all right?” Bilbo patted his back. 

“They were calling you ‘uncle?’”

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

“I though they were only doing it when you weren’t around.” Thorin handed the pipe back as he recovered. 

“They said it to my face on a regular basis. I thought they were teasing at first, but it seemed to stick. What do you mean when I wasn't around?”

“It wasn’t you they were teasing. At least, I didn’t think it was.”

Bilbo looked confused. “Then who? Wait. You?” His face lit up with amusement. “No!” He turned mischievous. “How long?”

“It hardly matters.” 

“It matters to me. I want to know. How long?”

“It’s not important.”

“How long, Thorin?” Bilbo’s gaze bore into the dwarf. 

“It wasn’t serious until after the carrock.”

“But?”

Thorin mumbled something indiscernible.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Bilbo pushed shamelessly. 

“I said Bag End!”

Bilbo froze for a split second before exploding in laughter. He laughed so hard he flopped into Frodo’s lap, and Thorin had to grab the pipe to keep it from spilling its hot ashes. 

“It’s not that funny,” the dwarf denied, but couldn’t suppress a small smile of his own. 

“It’s hilarious!” Bilbo returned. “You have a funny way of showing it. I thought you hated me!”

“Well, I wasn’t happy about it, and you were frustratingly adorable. I had to keep scowling just to save face,” Thorin grumbled superficially, a few chuckles of his own escaping. 

“Oh Yavanna. That’s terrible.” Bilbo wiped the tears from his eyes and propped himself back up. “Well, if it makes you feel any better. I thought you were unfairly handsome when I first saw you, but then you called me a grocer, and it made it easy to forget most of the time.”

“It would have made it harder to avoid you if you liked me,” Thorin justified. “It was self-defense.”

“Oh whatever.” Bilbo swatted the king with his good hand. “Obviously, we both learned to see past our first impressions.” He leaned back into his dwarf. 

“Thank Mahal.” Thorin pulled his hobbit closer and placed a kiss to his curls. 

“Ah, hindsight. Be a dear, Sam, and deliver these back to the grumpy wizard.” Bilbo tapped the pipe out and handed it and a pouch of pipeweed to the blonde hobbit. “Thank you,” he added as Sam hopped up to do so. Bilbo sighed. “Now I’m tired.” He sagged against his dwarf. 

“Then let’s eat quickly and get some rest.” Thorin accepted Bilbo’s bowl as well as his own as Aragorn passed the food around.

“Sounds good to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The Fellowship+2 finds a stream on their way to Moria. Bilbo is stubborn, and the Fellowship learns that hobbits don't mix well with bodies of water.


	10. Watery Revelations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!🥰

The next day Bilbo continued to show improvement as they traveled. He was eating more and keeping up with the group. He and Thorin still gravitated near each other, but it seemed a natural instinct rather than a defensive tactic. 

Bilbo lingered with the other hobbits more when the path allowed it, but was gradually reaching out to the rest of the fellowship. He pushed ahead enough to catch up with Legolas. “Hello.”

“Master hobbit.” Legolas nodded.

“You’re Thranduil’s son.” Bilbo pointed, further attracting the elf’s attention. “Prince of the woodland kingdom.” 

“Yes?” Legolas replied uncertainly. 

“What brings you on this quest?”

“The ring must be destroyed.”

“True, but that doesn’t tell me why you’re here. I was under the impression that Thranduil doesn’t care much about the world outside his forest.”

“I am not like my father.”

“Glad to hear it. You still didn’t answer my question.”

Legolas didn’t reply right away. If he was annoyed by the question, he didn’t show it. “I . . . don’t approve of my father’s inactivity. If I can help all of middle-earth by doing this one thing, then it’s worth it.” 

Bilbo nodded. “All right. How is your father?”

“He is . . . well.”

“But?”

“But he fades. The forest no longer thrives. I fear the woodland kingdom will soon be no more.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. It must have been a beautiful forest in its prime.”

“It was.”

Bilbo walked beside the elf silently for a few moments. “Legolas?”

“Yes, master burglar?”

“How . . . does it happen? Thorin and the princes. How do they, um, you know . . .”

“Azog.”

“Yes, but, _how_?”

“They split up, and Azog found the princes and killed them. Thorin faced him alone. He killed the orc, but he died of his wounds shortly after.”

“And I did nothing?” Bilbo’s voice strained. 

“You tried. You warned them of the trap, but it was too late. You were hit and unconscious for his fight, but you were there for him when he passed. They found you with his head in your lap. He died in your arms.” 

“Oh.” Bilbo covered his mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you that.” Legolas stopped and guided the hobbit to the side of the path. 

“No. I needed to know.” Bilbo wiped his eyes and sniffed back the tears. “I did warn them. What else can I do? How can I stop it from happening?”

“I don’t know.” Legolas shook his head. “But don’t let them separate. Make sure they stay together. And watch for flying objects.”

“Is everything all right?” Thorin stopped nearby, crossing his arms and glowering at the elf. 

“Yes.” Bilbo lifted his hand to ward him off. “I simply had some questions. Thank you Legolas.”

The elf nodded, and Bilbo returned to his dwarf, staying close and quiet for some time.

“What did he say?” Thorin finally broke the silence between him and his hobbit. 

“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t about him.”

“You asked about our future?”

“I asked . . . about how you died . . . and how to prevent it. I’m not letting it happen again.”

“And? Did he tell you?”

“He had some pointers.” Bilbo shrugged. 

Thorin pulled him closer in a one-armed hug. “We’ll figure it out.”

Bilbo nodded and clung to his coat.

“Hey! We found water!” Pippin shouted from the front of the group. 

“Water?” Bilbo shared a curious look with his dwarf, and they hurried to catch up. 

“Yes, this stream leads to the lake before the door we are seeking,” Gandalf informed as everyone caught up.

“Does that mean we’re almost there?”

“Another day or two at the most.” Gandalf nodded. 

“We could use some fresh water.” Sam slipped off his water skin and began filling it. 

“Thank Eru!” Bilbo stumbled toward the stream. “Fresh running water.” 

“If you’re thirsty, all you need to do is ask.” Aragorn offered him a waterskin. 

“Oh, no. I’m fine.” Bilbo untied his coat and slipped it off. 

“What are you doing?” Thorin watched him curiously. 

“Taking a bath, obviously.”

“Here?” Sam glanced around uneasily. 

“Here’s where the water is.”

“This is a mountain stream.” Thorin grabbed Bilbo's arm to stop him. “It’s from melting snow.”

“Yes, Thorin, I know how it works.”

“You’ll freeze to death.”

“Better than stinking to death. Listen, the last ‘bath’ I had was crawling up through a toilet! I’ve been through a dragon fight and a war since then. I feel disgusting. Please tell me someone has some soap.”

“Oh sure!” Pippin happily supplied a bar. 

“I don’t think this is the best time or place,” Aragorn tried to reason. 

“Thank you, Pippin.” Bilbo grabbed the soap and started to walk upstream. 

“Where are you going?” Boromir called after him. 

“Well, I’m not bathing with an audience, am I? There’s some trees up there. I’ll be back soon.”

“You can’t go unguarded!” Aragorn insisted. 

“I’ll be fine.” Bilbo waved his concern away. “I’ll yell very loudly if I have any unpleasant surprises.” 

Thorin sighed and hurried after his partner, muttering under his breath, “Stubborn hobbit.”

“Well, might as well refill our waterskins and take a break,” Legolas said in amusement.

_~Thorin~_

“Bilbo, wait up.” Thorin joined him behind the small cluster of trees. 

“Oh, hello. Come to hobbit sit?”

“Yes.”

Bilbo scoffed. 

“Among other things. I don’t think you realize how cold this water is.”

Bilbo quickly undressed. “I know it’s cold, Thorin, but I can’t stand smelling myself anymore.”

“You’re going to catch your death of cold.”

“I’ll be fine. If I was going to die from something so mundane, it would have happened already.”

Thorin shook his head and began removing his clothes. 

“What are you doing?” Bilbo eyed him with interest. 

“I’m coming in with you to help keep you warm.”

“Oh really? That sounds promising. What did you have in mind?”

“I don’t think you’ll be quite so amorous once you’re In the water, Ghivashel,” Thorin laughed. 

“Shouldn’t keep is from trying.” Bilbo eyed his naked dwarf approvingly. 

“Come on.” Thorin guided him into the water. “We need to get done quickly, so you don’t freeze to death on me.” 

“You’re no f-Ah! Sweet mother of everything green! That’s cold!” Bilbo spluttered as they waded in, a string of curses continuing to pour of his tongue as they waded deeper. “Good Eru, I can’t feel my legs.”

“I told you.”

“G-g-give me that s-s-soap.” Bilbo began scrubbing feverishly as well as his shaking limbs would allow. Thorin stayed close and tried to rub some warmth into his stubborn hobbit's skin as he washed. “I c-c-can’t t-t-take any-m-more. I’ll d-d-do the r-rest on the b-bank.”

Thorin steadied him as he scampered out of the frigid water. Bilbo wrapped himself in Thorin’s coat and tried to stop trembling so terribly. Sighing, Thorin figured he might as well get washed up as well. Once Bilbo had regained a little more control of his limbs, he knelt by the water and wet his hair. Borrowing the soap from Thorin, he scrubbed his head almost violently, trying to wash out all the grime from travel and war.

Thorin finished quickly, giving his own hair a quick wash, and waded out to get dressed. He wrung his hair out and waited as Bilbo finished up. “Bilbo, you’re turning blue.” 

“Y-Yes, b-but at l-least you c-c-can see it n-now.” The hobbit struggled to put his clothes back on as his limbs shook uncontrollably. 

Thorin sighed and helped the hobbit into his clothes, wrapping him up in his coat once he was dressed. 

Bilbo was shivering so violently, he had trouble walking, and Thorin had to support him as they returned to the others. 

“Uncle! You’re lips are blue!” Frodo fretted when they came back into view, throwing his arms around his elder to share some warmth. 

“Y-y-yes, but c-c-clean.”

“Was it worth it?” Boromir wondered skeptically, eying the shaking hobbit. 

“I f-f-feel b-better. I think. I’ll g-get back t-to you when I c-can feel my b-b-body again.” Bilbo tucked his dwarf’s coat tighter around himself. “Are we r-ready? I n-need to k-k-keep m-moving.”

“Yes. Let’s go.” Aragorn waved them in the right direction. “We’ll be following the stream until we get o the lake, and then we’ll be close to the door.”

“S-s-sounds g-good.”

They continued on their way, and Thorin stuck close to his hobbit, rubbing Bilbo's arms or back in an effort to create more heat.

Bilbo was still shivering that evening when they stopped for the night, but at least he wasn’t an alarming shade of blue. They built a fire under some trees near the stream. Sam cooked a hot dinner. 

“What are you doing now?” Thorin sighed as Bilbo started stripping off clothes again. 

“I’m clean, but my clothes still stink like orc blood.” Bilbo grabbed the bar of soap and trudged to the creek.

“Bilbo, now’s not the best time.”

“We’re going to Mordor, Thorin. There’s never going to be a ‘good’ time. I’m not washing everything. Just some of the most offensive articles.” Bilbo knelt on the bank and started scrubbing his clothes. 

“So finicky,” Thorin mumble.

“What was that?”

“Nothing, Amralime.”

“That’s what I thought.” Bilbo returned to his task. 

There were some snickers in the camp, but Frodo got up and joined his uncle. “I’ll help.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. . . . But, thank you.” Bilbo added when Frodo grabbed a shirt and began scrubbing.

Between the two of them, they quickly finished and hung the clothes on branches to dry. “Come on,” Frodo urged. “You’re turning blue again.”

“Yes, yes. I’m coming.”

Thorin followed them back to the other hobbits, and he and Frodo secured Bilbo between them, each sharing their heat. After a hot bowl of stew, Bilbo finally started to relax and drifted off before anyone else. 

“Shivering must be hard work,” Boromir teased.

“He’s still recovering,” Frodo snapped.

“I meant no disrespect.”

Ignoring the man, Frodo pulled his uncle into his arms. “I never realized how much he went through.”

Thorin wrapped them both in his. “He has accomplished great feats. I wish I could say he’s received the rest and care he deserves. But I was . . . neglectful. I could not see past the gold until it was too late.”

“Bilbo is resilient and resourceful.” Gandalf blew a cloud of smoke. “They make him both a very valuable member of any quest and enduring enough to see it through.”

“He still deserves better than constantly struggling to survive in the wilds,” Thorin grumbled, brushing a lock of hair from his love’s face.

“Hobbits are designed for a life of plenty and peace. It brings me no pleasure to drag any hobbit from their home in the Shire,” Aragorn intoned. “But it is that love of a simple life that makes them resistant to the ring's call. It makes them strong.”

“You’re right,” Thorin mumbled into his hobbit’s curls. “It is ‘love’ that makes them strong. Not for gold, or power, or strength, but for peace, happiness, family, and, most importantly, food.” He smirked, and the other hobbits giggled in agreement. 

“Get some sleep,” Boromir ordered after a few moments. “We'll be reaching the door soon.”

Bilbo stretched and yawned as they continued on the next morning. He seemed to have finally gotten warm again and was in a far better mood for being cleaner. “So, we don’t have to go over this lake, do we?” 

“No, that won’t be necessary. We'll simply follow its bank to the door,” Gandalf answered from the front. 

“Oh, that’s good. I’ve had enough water travel to last me a lifetime.”

“You mean the barrel ride?” Merry perked up. 

Bilbo nodded.

“Oh yeah!” Pippin jumped in. “That story’s great too! Were you really holding on for dear life the whole time?”

“Yes, unfortunately. D-did I tell you that story?”

“Not until we were older. That one was a tween and up only story,” Frodo answered. 

“Oh, good. I’d wouldn’t want to traumatize any faunts with that one.”

“It was hard . . . when I first heard it,” Frodo admitted. “I’m pretty sure I sobbed for an hour straight before you convinced me you were all right.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I don’t understand,” Thorin rumbled over them. “The barrel ride was a feat of cunning and skill. Why would it traumatize children?”

“Well, river stories are scary for any hobbit, but my parents drowned in the Brandywine when I as a faunt.” Frodo shrugged. “Thinking of my Uncle Bilbo doing the same was just too much.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bilbo repeated. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“It’s all right, Uncle. You only told me because I insisted.”

“What’s so scary about a river?” Gimli listened nearby. 

“Everything!” Pippin supplied. 

“Hobbit’s can’t swim,” Bilbo and Frodo answered in unison, sharing an amused look.

“What?” Thorin stopped in his tracks. “But riding the barrels was your idea.”

“Because there was literally no other way.” Bilbo and the other hobbits came to a stop as well. “Believe me. I searched desperately for any other way. There was none.” 

“You weren’t even in a barrel.”

“No. It was terrifying, I was quite sure my role in the quest was over. But at least I would have died getting you out. I think that counts for something.” Bilbo resumed walking. 

“Are you-- you can’t swim?” Thorin followed incredulously.

“Nope. Very few hobbits can. Not even the river folk, and they practically live on it.”

“I thought you’d died when we couldn’t find you. That was when I thought you could swim! Now you’re telling me you floated for miles on those barrels with certain death waiting if your hands slipped?”

“Yes?”

Thorin rubbed a hand over his face. “And Laketown?”

“Was a nightmare. The decks weren’t so bad after having to go under the lake to get in, but that was even more terrifying than the the river. I could just imaging myself sinking into black oblivion. I gripped those wooden beams so hard I gave myself splinters.”

“Mahal.”

“Honestly, after that, I was too sick to pay much attention to the water. I don’t think I’ve ever had a head cold that bad before or since then.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you couldn’t swim?”

“It’s not like it would have changed anything.”

“I would've found another way to get you into Laketown.”

Bilbo snorted. “There was no other way. Same with the barrels.”

“I would have put you in a barrel and pulled the lever myself.”

“Everything turned out fine.” Bilbo swatted the air. 

“No more barrel rides for you,” Thorin grumbled. 

“Won’t hear me arguing with that.”

“Can any of you swim?” Thorin looked over the hobbits and received a lot of head shaking. 

“I can tread water,” Merry piped up. “Almost. As long as it’s not too deep.”

“Mahal help us.” Thorin rubbed his face again.

“Let’s just stay away from large or fast moving bodies of water and we’ll be fine,” Bilbo assured. 

“There are many rivers on our path,” Legolas mentioned. 

“Then we’ll have to find some bridges.”

“Let’s just worry about getting through Moria for now,” Aragorn redirected. “That will be challenge enough.

“No more rivers for you,” Thorin rumbled over his hobbit. 

“I’m perfectly okay with that.”

They followed the stream, but didn’t reach the lake it flowed into until late morning the next day. They stopped at the edge of the lake and gazed out over the dark water. 

“I don’t like the looks of that.” Sam shifted uneasily. 

“Yeah. Let’s, uh, let’s steer clear of that, shall we?” Bilbo agreed. 

No one was of a mind to disagree, so they continued along the bank, keeping a safe distance from the water. The hobbits were all but barricaded from the water as the others made a point of walking between them and the lake. Thorin was particularly keen to keep them away from the water. 

“Are you all right?” Bilbo caught up to walk beside Frodo. 

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.” Frodo took another look at his uncle. “Are you okay?”

“Do you . . .” Bilbo glanced out at the still water. “Do you feel anything . . . strange?” He rubbed at something through the fabric of his coat.

Frodo noticed it immediately. He was very familiar with his uncle's tick of fingering the ring in his pocket. “No.” He studied his uncle again. “Do you?” 

“I don’t know. Maybe? Something doesn’t feel right.” Bilbo continued to worry at the ring inside his coat. 

“Everything will be all right, Uncle Bilbo.” Frodo pulled him close, trying to distract him from the ring’s lure. “The others will take care of us.”

Bilbo snorted, but the distraction seemed to work. “Don’t rely too much on others. Be ready for when they fail.”

Frodo looked around at their escorts—a wizard, mighty men, an elf, and even strong dwarrow. If they couldn’t protect them, what could a handful of hobbits do? “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Bilbo patted his nephew's shoulder. “Like you said, everything will be all right.”

They continued on in silence. Only Merry and Pippin seemed to be oblivious to the cautious tension that the lake inspired. About mid afternoon, Gandalf hummed in satisfaction. “We are very close.” He nodded. “We should be there within an hour or two, I think.” 

“Doesn’t sound that close,” Sam mumbled, trudging faithfully behind Frodo. 

“Gandalf has a terrible sense of time,” Bilbo whispered to Frodo and Sam. 

“Maybe that’s why he’s always late.” Frodo smirked. 

“Or why he disappears for decades only to show up and assume you still remember him.”

“He does do that, doesn’t he?” Frodo giggled. 

“I don’t think he realizes that some of us won’t live forever. Too much time with the elves.” 

“I am well aware of the hobbit lifespan, thank you very much, and spend ample time with men and dwarves, as well,” Gandalf huffed, having overheard their blatant gossiping. 

“Well, that settles it. He doesn’t have an excuse. He's just bad with time. Can’t relate to mortals, poor fellow.” Bilbo tone was sympathetic, but there was a glint of mischievousness in his eyes.

Realizing he was being played, Gandalf shook his head and muttered under his breath. “Hobbits.” The small group giggled conspiratorially. 

Despite Frodo’s efforts to keep his uncle distracted, Bilbo continued to worry at his Jacket and send furtive glances at the water. Frodo sighed in relief when Gandalf announced they had reached their destination. 

“Here we are.” The wizard stopped them. “Now we just need to find the door.”

The fellowship looked around scanning the mountainside for just such a door, but there was none to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The Fellowship+2 are only a door away from Moria. But there is yet a riddle they must solve, and something lurks in the depths to further hinder their advance.


	11. Watchful Waters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!😁

“So, uh, where is it, then?” Pippin wondered. 

“It is a dwarven door,” Gandalf answered. 

“So it’s . . . made of stone?” Merry ventured. 

“It was carved with magic.” The wizard approached a smooth patch of stone and ran his hand over it. “Made so that, when closed, it would be completely invisible. Over time, the locations were lost even to the dwarrow.”

“But you can find it right? We came all this way.”

“Yes, but it will take some time. The door will reveal itself under the moonlight.”

“So, what are we supposed to do until then?” Pippin flapped his arms impatiently. 

“You can start by keeping quiet! And then staying out of trouble!”

“Maybe we could cook something up to eat,” Sam suggested optimistically. 

“No,” Aragorn denied. “No fires.”

“So much for that,” Sam mumbled. 

“We can still rest.” Frodo patted his gardener's arm. “Let’s find a place to sit for a while. Bilbo?”

“Hmm?” His uncle didn’t really seem to be listening, staring out at the water and rubbing at his coat.

“Come on. Let’s take a break.” Frodo guided the older hobbit over to a patch of moss growing in the shadow of the mountain. Digging out some rations, they sat together and ate in silence. 

Merry and Pippin joined them in their attempt to stay out of trouble. Boromir hovered nearby, and Thorin never wandered far from the cluster of hobbits. With their bellies temporarily sated, the smallest members of the company relaxed for a short nap. Merry and Pippin curled up together by Bilbo’s side and passed out quickly. Frodo tried to stay awake, but eventually succumbed on his uncle’s shoulder. 

“Get some rest while you can, Sam,” Bilbo spoke softly. 

“What about you, Mr. Bilbo?”

“I’m sure I’ll drift off when I’m ready.” Bilbo spared him a small smile. 

“All right.” Sam made himself comfortable next to Frodo and soon went still. 

“You should rest as well, Ghivashel.” Thorin wandered closer. 

“There’s something evil here.”

“What?” Thorin gripped the hilt of his sword and scanned the valley. “Where?”

“Close. The ring calls to it.”

Thorin spun around, his concern returning to his hobbit. “Bilbo, does it speak to you?”

“It’s not talking to me, but . . .” Bilbo’s expression tightened until it was almost a wince. “I can feel it.”

“I will alert the others to be on guard.”

Bilbo nodded, and the dwarf marched away to the others. They were all on alert as the sun slowly sank below the mountain. Bilbo didn’t get any sleep, but woke the other hobbits as the last rays of daylight faded away. 

They stretched and grumbled as they awakened from their slumber, eager to seek out another piece of their rations. Frodo helped Bilbo up, as his uncle had gotten a bit stiff from being used as a pillow, and the older hobbit popped his back with a groan. 

“Well, did you find it yet?” Bilbo asked as the wizard continued his search for the door. 

“I believe so.”

“Great!” Pippin scanned the stone wall expectantly. “Where is it?”

“We need more moonlight.” Gandalf raised his staff to the sky, and the clouds parted, revealing the glimmering moon. Turning back to the mountain, he murmured over it in elvish. The moonlight seem to seep into the stone and a shimmering outline began to glow. Words appeared over the revealed door. 

“It didn’t open. Now what?” Merry asked. 

“It appears to be locked with a riddle. All we need to do is answer the riddle, and it will open.” 

“What’s the riddle?” Frodo stepped closer, intrigued.

“It says ‘speak friend and enter.’”

“That’s not much of a riddle,” Merry grumbled. 

“So, what does it mean?” Pippin wondered. 

“I means if we’re friends, we’ll know the password, and the door will open,” Gandalf answered and stepped back, speaking a word in elvish. Nothing happened. 

“Bilbo, what do you think?” Frodo turned, but his uncle was no longer beside him. “Bilbo?” He nearly panicked before he spotted the hobbit standing near the water. Abandoning the others as they tried to parse the riddle, he hurried to his uncle. “Bilbo, you scared me. You said to stay away from the water.”

“Yes, yes I did.” Bilbo seemed to shake from a trance. “Um, well, how’d it go? Did he get the door open?” He stepped away from the gently lapping ripples. 

“It seems to be locked with a password. We have to solve the riddle to open it.” Frodo purposely stood between his uncle and the water. 

“And? What's taking so long?” They both glanced back at the wizard uselessly beating against the stone. 

“I guess he hasn’t figured it out.”

They watched the wizard’s attempts for a few moments, before movement caught Bilbo’s eye. “Hey! I said stay away from the water!” The younger hobbits dropped their rocks sheepishly and scampered back to the rest of the fellowship. 

“They’re always getting into trouble,” Frodo huffed fondly.

“Well, I’d rather them not tangle with this kind of trouble . . . whatever it is.” Bilbo rolled his shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Frodo eyed his uncle carefully. 

“Not really, no. I got a pretty hard knock on the head recently. Maybe it knocked something loose.”

“Stop it.” Frodo swatted his arm. “You’re probably the sharpest one here. And we have a wizard.”

“You'd be surprised how little that means.”

“I mean it,” Frodo laughed. “I bet you could solve the riddle no problem. You’re great at riddles.”

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t mind trying if it gets us out of here sooner. What was it?”

“Speak friend and enter.”

Bilbo's face scrunched up. “That’s it?”

“Yep. Gandalf said we should know the password if we’re friends.”

Bilbo muttered the short command to himself, repeating it. “That’s not what it means,” he snorted. “I told you comparing me to a wizard didn’t mean much.”

“You figured it out?” Frodo grinned. He’d expected no less. 

“Of course. It’s a very simple riddle. It even gives you the answer.” Bilbo flapped his arms.

“We have to go tell Gandalf!” Frodo grabbed his uncle's arm but didn’t make it any further. Something wet wrapped around his ankles and yanked his feet out from under him. “Bilbo!” He scrambled to get a grip of the rocks he was being dragged over. 

Bilbo was with him almost before he’d called. Sting glistened in the moonlight, and Bilbo brought it down hard on the slimy flesh wrapped around Frodo’s ankle. The elven blade sliced cleanly through the spongy flesh, releasing the hobbit in its grasp. 

A bellow echoed from the lake. “Run!” Bilbo tugged Frodo to his feet, but they didn’t make it more than two steps before an explosion of tentacles erupted from the water, knocking them both to the rocky ground. One of them snatched up Bilbo and lifted him into the air above the water.

“Bilbo!” Thorin charged into the midst of the raging tentacles, slicing through any that came within reach. The entire company ran to assist. Another assault of tentacles threw several of them back before encasing Frodo in its grip and hoisting him into the air. 

“Aragorn!” Frodo struggled against the flailing arm. 

“Frodo!” Thorin rushed into the water, hacking away as he tried to get closer. 

“Bilbo! The door!” Frodo shouted when they passed, the creature recklessly swinging them through the air with a roar as the company cut away at its other limbs. 

Bilbo screamed something at the top of his lungs, but Frodo didn’t understand it. The creature didn’t seem to like it, though, as Bilbo’s voice cut off abruptly when he slammed into the water.

“Bilbo!” Frodo tried to grab his sword. He couldn't reach it. A deep rumble filled the battlefield. 

“The door’s open!” Merry shouted over the battle.

“Get the hobbits inside!” Gandalf ordered as they fought to retrieve the ring-bearers. 

“Bilbo!” Thorin sliced cleanly through another tentacle. Finally, the head of the creature broke through the water, releasing an enraged roaor. 

“Gandalf!” Frodo screamed as the tentacle arm holding him went limp, tossing him into the air. 

“Aragorn!” Thorin prompted, and the man lunged to catch the flying hobbit. Thorin and Legolas continued to draw the creature's attention as Boromir and Gimli covered Aragorn’s retreat. “Bilbo!” Thorin’s desperation grew as Bilbo remained unaccounted for.

The creature rose further out of the water with a bellow, revealing yet more tentacles. One of them held a soaked, limp hobbit in its grasp. 

Gimli joined the charge as Thorin fought to reach his hobbit. “Release him!” Thorin chopped through the tentacles attacking him. “No!” The arm holding the ring-bearer hovered over the beast’s grotesque head. The monster opened its fang filled mouth and time itself seemed to stop as the tentacle released its captive. 

The company watched in horror as the barely conscious hobbit hurtled toward a grisly fate. “Bilbo!” Frodo and Thorin screamed in unison, each one struggling in vain to reach their loved one in time. Something glimmered in the moonlight, and Bilbo fell into the creature's maw.

Shrieking and shaking, the monster flailed about in an aimless rage. The fellowship dodged the blind attacks, simply trying to evade the massive creature's wide swings. The giant head rocked violently in the water until finally slapping itself with one of its own arms and flinging something off its face.

A small body skidded across the water before sinking below the dark waves. “Bilbo!” Thorin struggled through the deepening water to reach him.

“Cover me!” Legolas hopped over them, using the dwarrow’s heads as stepping stones, before diving sleekly into the lake and disappearing into the darkness. Thorin stood his ground, and the men and dwarrow deflected the flailing arms. 

“It’s too dark!” Aragorn shouted. They couldn’t see elf or hobbit through the inky substance of the lake. 

Gandalf lifted his rod with a chant and a blinding light filled the area. The creature screeched, shrinking away and covering itself with its tentacles, but the dark water only seemed to absorb the light. 

They waited in suspense, either for their elf and hobbit to emerge or for the monster to resume its attack. Just as hope began to slip away, A silvery head broke through the water, gasping a deep breath. “I found him!” Legolas began swimming back to them, a small hobbit under his arm.

Aragorn hurried to help pull them in while the others warded off the beast’s renewing attacks. 

“Get him inside!” Gandalf yelled, and they raced the hobbit to safety. Thorin and Gimli were the last to follow into the mine, and the creature was right on their heals. No sooner had they all entered, it crushed the stone doorway, trapping them all in darkness. 

“Light! We need light!” Aragorn demanded before the dust could settled. 

“He’s not breathing!” Legolas tried to find a clear place to lay the still hobbit. 

“Lay him down!” Boromir kicked a spot clear. 

“Bilbo!” Frodo tried to run to his uncle, but Boromir held him back. 

Legolas carefully lay the hobbit flat. “We need to get the water out of his lungs.”

“Move aside!” Thorin dropped to his hobbit's side. 

“When I tell you, hold his nose and breath into his mouth.” Aragorn began pumping his hands into Bilbo’s chest. “Now!” Thorin obeyed and blew into Bilbo's mouth. The fellowship watched in silent anticipation as they repeated the process several times. Finally, on the fourth try, Bilbo came to life, coughing up a lungful of water. 

“That’s it. Get it out.” Aragorn rolled the hobbit to his side and patted his back.

Bilbo lay back with a groan. “That’s gross.” 

Thorin laughed, gripping his hobbit’s head in his hands and leaning down to press their foreheads together. 

“Ow.” 

“Where do you hurt, Ghivashel?”

“Everywhere.” Bilbo winced when he tried to move. “That thing bit me.”

“What?” Thorin and Aragorn shared a panicked look and immediately began to peel off the hobbit’s clothes. 

“Ah! Careful!” Bilbo protested the jostling that thankfully stopped once they reached the coat of mythril underneath his shirt. 

“Mythril!” Gimli breathed in awe, peering over Thorin’s shoulder. 

“Thank Mahal!” Thorin ran his hand over the shiny silver rings.

“Ow! Don’t push!” Bilbo pulled up the brilliant armor coat to reveal dark purple patches already forming across his midsection. 

Thorin cursed under his breath and touched the blossoming bruises gingerly. “The coat only stopped you from being skewered. There could be internal damage. Tharkun!” 

“Let me see,” the wizard sighed. “I’m beginning to feel like your personal physician,” he muttered as he waved a hand over the hobbit's middle. “There doesn’t appears to be any serious damage beyond the extensive bruising. I’d be more concerned about his head. He suffered repeated blows against the water.”

“Bilbo!” The hobbit had passed out, and Thorin shook him awake.

“‘M ‘wake.” Bilbo slurred as Thorin sat him up again. 

“We’ll need to keep an eye on him. But as long as he’s not dying, we have more immediate concerns.” Aragorn stood, letting the dwarf handle his hobbit. 

“Well, we’re inside. But it looks more like a tomb.” Boromir glanced around uneasily. 

“No! These are my people!” Gimli fell upon the nearest dried corpse. “How could this happen?”

“This is Moria.” Thorin supported his swaying partner. “Nothing but death and evil lingers here. They should never have come.”

"How can you say that? This is our heritage!"

"I have lost too many kin to the evil of this place."

“And now we're stuck here.” Legolas wrung out his hair. “We can’t go back. Even if the way was open, we can’t risk facing that thing again.”

“No.” Gandalf gave the light from his staff a boost. “Our only way now is through the mines. May Eru help us. We will push on and find someplace safer to rest and treat our wounds.”

“If we keep quiet and move discreetly, we’ll should be fine.” Thorin hoisted Bilbo over his shoulder seeing as the hobbit couldn’t seem to stay awake. “Moria is massive. The goblins can’t monitor all of it. The door was perhaps our biggest obstacle, but we're in now.”

“How did the door open?” Merry wondered as they started to pick their way forward. 

“Yeah! I thought it was locked,” Pippin added. 

“Maybe Mahal opened it for us!” Gimli suggested. 

“It’s unlikely. Someone must have said the password,” Gandalf countered. 

“It was Bilbo!” Frodo supplied, walking behind Thorin to keep an eye on his unconscious uncle. “He knew the answer to the riddle. We were coming to tell you when that thing grabbed us.” 

“What was it?” Boromir asked.

“I didn’t understand what he said, but the door opened as soon as he said it.”

“Friend,” Legolas answered. “He said the elvish word for friend.”

“That’s it? That was the answer?” Merry wasn’t impressed. 

“You didn’t figure it out,” Sam replied defensively. “Mister Bilbo’s always been the Shire’s riddle master.”

“Riddle master?” Aragorn chuckled. “That’s quite a title.”

“It’s not an official one or anything.” Frodo shook his head. “I guess it comes from his story of riddles in the dark. It’s just something we used to call him as faunts.”

“But the answer was in elvish,” Legolas reminded. “I didn’t realize your uncle knew elvish.”

“Well, I haven’t heard him use it a lot, but I always assumed he was fluent.” Frodo scratched his head. “He always spoke elvish when we had elven guests.”

“‘M still learnin’.”

“Bilbo! You’re awake.”

“Mostly.”

“When did you start learning?”

“When we stayed in Rivendell.” Bilbo rubbed a hand over his face but didn’t ask to be put down. “Always wanted to learn.”

“There are better languages to spend you time learning,” Thorin humphed. “Are you ready to walk?”

“No. Hurts too much. Head is pounding.”

“All right.” Thorin patted his rear. “We should stop soon and rest.”

“I believe there is a spot nearby where we can recover our strength.” Gandalf continued to lead them on. 

Bilbo lapsed back into unconsciousness as the fellowship quieted. About fifteen minutes later, the wizard had led them to a small empty room. It looked like it might have been some kind of storage room before it was raided. 

Thorin lay Bilbo down and Frodo offered his lap for his uncle’s head. “We need to get him dry.” Thorin pulled Bilbo’s wet coat off and hung it on a jagged hook on the wall. Soon he had the hobbit in little more than his small clothes and wrapped Bilbo up in his mostly dry coat. 

“I’m pretty soaked myself.” Frodo slipped off as much as he dared to let it hang dry a while.

“Not me. I’m fine,” Pippin chirped cheerfully. 

“That’s because you didn’t do anything,” Sam groused. Only his pants had gotten wet, and they weren’t nearly as waterlogged as most the others, so he opted to keep them on. 

Bilbo woke up for a few minutes, and Thorin got both Frodo and Bilbo wrapped in his coat. The dark haired hobbit helped keep his uncle propped up, letting the older hobbit rest against him.

“Is he going to be all right?” Frodo asked as Aragorn took advantage of Bilbo’s wakefulness to check his vitals. 

“He’s taken a lot of hard knocks to the head. If he makes it the next couple days, he should be fine though. Sore and stiff, but alive and recovering. Honestly, I’m surprised he’s waking up as much as he is.”

“He’s stubborn,” Thorin answered the unspoken riddle. 

“It seems there’s no denying that,” Aragorn chuckled. “How do you feel, Frodo? That thing grabbed you too.”

“Sore.” Frodo nodded. “But it didn’t thrash me around like it did Bilbo. I don’t think it liked him opening the door.”

“Then it was more formidable than we knew. You’re uncle is full of surprises.”

“Tell me about it,” Frodo snorted. 

Aragorn laughed softly and ruffled his dark hair. “Get some rest.”

Sam settled down next to Frodo, and Bilbo passed out once again. The three of them rested together while Merry and Pippin tried to entertain themselves quietly. The men, dwarrow and elf tended to their weapons and armor to prevent rusting, while Gandalf hovered near the door pensively. 

~Thorin~

Thorin checked on his hobbit once more before shaking out his chain mail. He had already almost lost Bilbo twice since they arrived, and he foresaw the darkness of Moria to be no respite. He had never stepped foot inside the ancient mines before, but this was the home of his people, even before Erebor. It felt nostalgic. Like he knew the old stone under his feet. But there was also something undeniably evil lurking here. He knew the stories. The monster of fire and darkness plagued his dreams as a child. But he would face it before he’d allow it to harm his hobbit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time: The fellowship+2 begin making their way through the mines of Moria. They encounter a few hiccups along the way. Bilbo discovers just how much his 'courting gift' is worth.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is updated monthly. Check out my [tumblr](https://domesticgoddesswriter.tumblr.com) for my posting schedule, announcements, fic recs, recent activities, fan art and more!


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